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1845 i^n7 iCj3 


— - A ■• , \ y 

J io72 

::e, ma.s. 

From the collection of the 

r, n 

V XJibrary 
t P c 

San Francisco. California 



Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 




Part II., May, 1892, to October, 1892. 



Copyright, 1892, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 




Six Months — May, 1892, to October, 1892. 



Historic Dwarfs. (Illustrated) Mary Shears Kolmis 

Ricliard ami Anne Gibson 65 1 

How CoLUMiius Reckoned. (Illustrated by G. B. Fon, ami by copy of ( 

Toscanelli's map of the world) \ ^"'"y" ^"'""" ^""''"y ' ' 9"& 

How Michael's Bullet Spoiled ToiMmy's Picnic (Illustrated by C. T. l\i\\). Frank IV. Sage 925 

How- Rangoon Carried Weight. (Illustrated by W. Taber) E. Vinton Blake 506 

How Ships Talk to Each Other. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) .... Charles William Kennedy . . 760 

Hunter's Month, The. Picture, drawn by Martha Day Fenner 876 

Inanimate Things Ani.mated. Pictures, i. Bobby Slate and Bobby Pencil. \ 

2. The Alarm-Clock. Drawn by P. Newell \ 5°^ 

Incident at Mowbray's, An. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) D. B. IVaggener 834. 

Indian Summer. Picture, drawn by P. Newell 901 

In Ninety-three. Verses. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Kate Putnam Osgood 661 

In the Conservatory. Picture, drawn by Irving R. Wiles 525 

Jingles 551, 650, 839, 840, 863, 87S 

JOLLIVERS' Donkey, The. (Illustrated by G. B. Fox) Kate Tannatt Woods 781 

July. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 661 

June. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 586 

Keller, Helen. (Illustrated) Adeline G. Perry 573 

Kenniboy's Problems. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by C. T. Hill) . .John Kendrick Bangs 617 

Keys to the Student's Success, The Isabel Craven 874 

King Without a Throne, A. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Tudor Jenks 803 

Kitten by Post, A. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Estelle M. Hart 856 

" Lady Lofty has her Carriage." Picture, drawn by A. Brennan 537 

Land and Water Tussle, A. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Clarence Pullen 897 

Last Conquistador, The. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Ell/ridge S. Brooks 866 

" Laugh a Little Bit." Verses J. Edmund V. Cooke 550 

Lawn Dance for Little People, A. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) L. A. Bradbury 624 

Learning to be We.ather-Prophets. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent). . .S. A. IVetmore 937 

Leaves from a Boy's Sketch-book. Pictures, drawn by J. Montgomery Flagg 558 

Leonidas. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch and A. Brennan) Anna Policson Brcaun 944 

Lighthouse, The Lonely. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and A. Kappes) . . William Abbatt 567 

Little Barley-sugar Vender, The Xina M. Miel 71 1 

Lonely Lighthouse, The. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and A. Kappes) . . William Abbatt 567 

May. Poem N'ora Perry 526 

May Party, K. Picture, drawn by Maria L. Kirk 495 

Mazeppa. Picture, drawn by John Richards 873 

Merrymaker, My. Verses. (Illustrated by Neville Cain) Kate Rohrer Cain 692 

" Midshipman," the C.\t. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) John Coleman Adams 723 

Mortifying Mistake, A. Verses Anna M. Pratt 504 

Mr. .Somebody. Verses Laura E. Richards S73 

My Be Ti'Y. Verse Laura E. Richards 895 

My Troubadour. Poem. (Illustrated by H. Fenn) Charles II. Crandall ...... 517 

Nan's Collecting. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Francis S. Palmer 864 

Old Spain, A Story of. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Tudor Jenks 570 

Overshadowed. Verse. (Illustrated from a photograph) Dorothea Lummis 777 

Page of Fun, A. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 903 

Petit Marchand de Sucre d'Orge, Le. (Illustrated) Herminie II. Merriam 543 

Pictures. .495, 505, 511, 525, 526, 537, 544, 549, 550, 586, 628, 661, 71 1, 718, 744, 760, 797, 824, 846, 873, 876, 955 

Point of View, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) M. O. Kobbi- S06 

Prehistoric Photography. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Tudor Jenks 484 

Puzzled Professor, A. (Illustrated by the .\uthor) Tudor Jenks 942 

Quiet Beach, A. (Illustrated by the Author) W. A. Rogers 746 

Rainy Day, A. Poem. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) E. L. Sylvester 586 

Rainy-day House, The. Poem. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Innie Fields 827 

Rangoon as Nurse. (Illustrated by W. Taber) F.. Vinton Blake 604 

Rangoon. (Illustrated) E. Vinton Blake 

How Rangoon Carried Weight 5°^ 

Rangoon as Nurse 604 

The Rendezvous at East Gorge 682 



Rkd and Black Frances C. Sparhawk 628 

Rendezvous at East Gorge, The. (Illustrated by \V. Taber) E. Vinton Blake 682 

RoswEi.L Smith, In Memory of. (Illustrated) 636 

Safe Vehicle, K. Verses. (Illustrated by Bernhardt Wall, Jr.) J. Ellis Joy 542 

Scarlet Thorn, The. (Illustrated by II. Fenn) John Burroughs 674 

Servants of the King, The. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) M. Helen Eraser Lave tt . . 904 

Sir William Pepperrell's Well. Poem. (Illustrated by R. 15. Birch). . . Celia Thaxter 814 

Snakes, .Something .\bout. (Illustrated by J. Carter Beard) Margaret W. Leighton 730 

Solid Comfort. Picture, draw^ by Mary Hallock Foote 526 

Something About Snakes. (Illustrated Ijy J. Carter Beard) Margaret W. Leighton ... 730 

Spare Bedroom at Grandfather's, The. (Illustrated by the Author) . . . .Mary Hallock Foote 656 

Spinning in the Sunshine. Picture, drawn by A. Brennan 550 

.Sponge-man and the April Shower, The. Pictures, drawn by P. Newell 511 

Story ok the Flag, A. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Victor Mapes 643 

Strange Corners of Our Country. (Illustrated) Charles F. Liimmis 

The Mogollones 701 

Montezum.a's Well ■ 702 

Montezuma's Castle 706 

The Pueblos 7S8 

Cliff-builders 7go 

The Greatest Natural Bridge 828 

The Stone Autograph-Album 920 

Studio-boy, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) M. O. Kobbe 647 

Style of the O'Rourkes, The. Picture, drawn by F. T. Richards 718 

Swing, The. Picture, drawn by G. W. Edwards 549 

Tale of Piracy, h. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 600 

Tandem, A Curious. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 744 

Tapir-hunting in Brazil. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake, and by a full-page > 

picture) ^'^^ Herbert HSnnth 947 

Tee-Wahn Folk-stories. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) Charles F. Lummis 

The Ants that Pushed on the Sky 527 

Telephone, The. Poem Annie A. Preston 537 

That 's the Way ! Verses Ella Wheeler Wilcox 608 

Three Little Mice. Verses. (Illustrated by Charles Howard Johnson). . . Virginia Fairfax 554 

Tiger's Head from Cabul, A. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Thomas P. Hughes, D. D . 503 

To a Little Trout. Verses. (Illustrated by G. B. Fo.\) Charles Henry Webb 759 

Tcmmy's School. Verses Gertrude Morton 510 

Tom Paulding. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Brander Matthews 496 

593. 685, 737. 816, 930 

•• Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son."' Silhouette, drawn by Katharine B. Robertson 711 

Too Much of a Good Thing. Jingle Mrs. J. T. Greenleaf 839 

Troubadour, My. Poem. (Illustrated by H. Fenn) Charles H. Crandall 517 

Troublesome Model, A. (Illustrated by the Author) Meredith Nugent 872 

Trout, To a Little. Verses. (Illustrated by G. B. Fox) Charles Henry Webb 759 

Two Girls and a Boy. (Illustrated by V. Perard) Robert Howe I-'letchcr 518 

578, 662, 751, 847, 908 

Very Happy Family, A. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 87S 

Vireo's Nest, The. (Illustrated by W. \. McCullough) .Ernest Ingersoll 618 

Visit from Helen Keller, k. (Illustrated) Adeline G. Perry 573 

Volcanoes and Earthquakes. (Illustrated by T. Moran and C. T. Hill) . .Mrs. Charles F. Hartt 883 

Volcanoes and Earthquakes. (Illustrated by H. Fenn, T. O. Davidson, ?„,_,.,„„, 

, _ „ , { Prof. Frederick D. Chester .887 

and r. Moran) > -^ ' 

Voyage of Columbus, The. (Illustrated by W. IL Drake) Royall Bascom Smithey 670 

" Walking-beam Boy," The. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) L. E. Slofiel 824 

What .Vm I ? Jingle Mrs. J. T. Greenleaf. 839 

" Wii.\T News ? " — in Mid-ocean H. D. Smith 766 

What Things Befell the Squire's House. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. ) ..,,,, , ,., , 

„. , . ( Vngtnta l\ ooaivard Lloud . . 070 

Birch) S * '' 

When I Was Your Age. (Illustrated) Laura E. Richards 545 

61 1, 692, 778, 860 



Year with Dollv, A. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) Eudora S. Biimstead 490 

631. 7"". 745.859,936 
Zoo, Af Till-. Pictures, drawn liy J. Carter Beard and A. Dijring 544 


"The Little Candy-seller," from a painting by Achille Fould, facing Title-page of Volume — "Summer 's Come," 
by Otto Wolf, page 562 — " F"rank Dipped a Salute to the President of the FrenA Republic," by R. B. Birch, page 
642 — "The Old Lighthouse-keeper and the Children," by W. A. Rogers, page 722 — "Napoleon's Veterans 
V'iewing the Portrait of the King of Rome," by II. A. Ogden, page 802 — A Menagerie Performance — after a 
painting by Fr. Sonderland, page 8S2. 

Jack-IN-THE-Pulpit. (Illustrated.) 

Introduction — Plant Something — Dog-talk — A Spring Catch — Live Oysters in the House — Which ? — Be 
Quick, my Lad! — Clover for Food — Birds in Tiers (illustrated) — Red Dog-tooth Violets, S52; Introduction — 
Some Simple Garden Questions — A Natural Pea-shooter — Whuy Not? — Bessy's Enigma — A Live Horse 
for Five Dollars — A Cat who Ate Eggs — A Change of United States Presidents — Alphabet Story — " How 
Five Little Ash-trees were Turned into One" (illustrated), 634; Introduction — Our National Flower — Our 
National Hymn — Those Five-dollar Horses, 712; Introduction — A National Song — What is Love? — The 
Ocean — To a Butterfly, 794; Introduction — A Jewel Song — When a Match was a Wonder — A Tragedy- — 
A Fairy Ship in Fairy-land (illustrated by Meredith Nugent), 952. 

For Vkrv Little Folk. (Illustrated.) 

Tlie Mean Little Bear 632 

The Robber Rat and the Poor Little Kitten Katharine Pyle 793 

Bertie's First Day at School S. Mary Norton 954 

Plays and Music. (Illustrated.) 

A Lawn Dance for Little People L. A. Bradbury 624 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 555, 638, 716, 796, 877, 956 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 559, 639, 719, 799, 879, 959 

Editorial Notes 555, 796 




Vol. XIX. MAY. 1892. No. 7. 

Copyright, 1892, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 


By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 

Under the branches they went together, 

The blossoming branches that break the sky, 
All in the morn of the young, sweet weather. 

When softly the green on the hills doth lie; 
And Dorothy thought it was over the meadow, 

And Cicely said it was close by the spring. 
But Polly was sure that the woodland's shadow 

Sheltered that magical fairy ring. 

So over the meadow they swiftly hied them, — 

Oh, but the bird in the blue sang sweet ! 
They saw not the blush of the brier beside them. 

The violets smiling beneath their feet. 
Long by the spring they lingered and listened ; 

'T was a diadem set in a mossy rim. 
And oh, the beauty that clustered and glistened 

In frail ferns falling about its brim ! 

They sought in the wood for a wonder revealing. 

And saw not the leaves in a net o'erhead. 
Oh, but the song through the pine-tops stealing. 

And oh, that hush down the dim ways shed ! 
Then, when the sun leaned lower to find them, 

Homeward they wandered a sorrowful way, 
.•\nd knew not the land they were leaving behind them. 

The rare, new land of a young June day ! 

But Dorothy thinks it is over the meadow, 

And Cicely says it is close by the .spring ; 
While Polly is sure that the woodland's shadow 

Shelters the magical fairy ring ! 

An (lid manuscript recently discovered by a 
(jerman professor seems to indicate a very early 
origin for the photographic camera. 

The original text is in Sanskrit, and the trans- 
lation is faithful in all respects. The preamble, 
as usual, recites the titles of the potentate who 
figures in the story, and I omit most of it. The 
first sentence, however, helps us to fix the date. 

It runs thus: "In the period of rulers from 
the land over the sea, when the ice-bridge 
existed, in the times of the forefathers of the 
ancestors of the forerunners ; in the reign of 
the great, wise, strongest-in-battle and swiftest- 
in-retreat, the outrunner-of-the-chariots-of-the- 
five-toed-horses, in the thirteenth period after 
the slaying of the next-to-Iast toothed bird " — 
and so on. 

The references to the glacial period, to the 
original form of the present horse, and to the 
l)terodactyl will convince any student of geol- 
ogy that this document is perhaps the oldest in 
existence. Indeed, the university has conferred 
upon the professor a purple ribbon to wear on 
Sundays in recognidon of this remarkable dis- 
covery. I will add only that the old papyrus 
which contained the story was found with others 
ill a stone chest upheaved during an earthquake 
in Asia Minor. 

Thus runs the story : 

Came rumors and sayings to the sharp ear of 
the ruler, who gave orders to the swordbearer 

and bowmen to betake them to the cave of the 
image-maker, and, having laid hands upon him, 
to walk him ijuickly to the ruler's house. 

But he of the sword did shake in his sandal- 
straps, and his hair did point skyward, while 
his teeth tapped together ; for the image-maker 
was known to be a wizard and talker with the 
winds. Before then no one had dared so much 
as to throw a rock at the cave-dweller. 

The ruler turned his eye upon the sword- 
bearer and saw his fright. Yet the ruler said no 
word, for he loved his people, and knew that 
the wizard must be taken. Rather would he 
have sent his whole army one by one to come 
out no more from the darkness of the dread 
cave than that harm should come to himself or 
to his people, for he had the heart of a dinosau- 
rus, one of the green kind. [Note: The profes- 
sor insists this is right, but I think the adjective 
plainly refers to the apteryx, which was of a 
dusky emerald color when enraged.] 

The swordbearer, liaving taken a damii fare- 
well, gathered the bowmen and went toward 
the rising sun; but his heart was cold. When 
the fourth pinkness of dawning dyed the sky, 
came black figures against the blue at the end- 
ing of the earth where rises the world-lighter, 
and before the gong for the morning meal had 
thrice been rung to waken the .sleep-Ioving-in- 
the-morning ruler, the swordbearer came bring- 
ing the wicked wizard. 

The wizard carried a chest or cofter, black. 


and covered close with hide, but having a (hill 
eye at one end, and knobs and round trimmings, 
wrought curiously and of strange magic and 
witchery. [Note: Evider'.ly the primitive cam- 
era, with the usual buttons.] 

When the day was strong, arose the ruler, and 
ate half a zebra with trilobite sauce. 

Then did I, his scribe, tell him humblv that 
ilie wizard awaited him. 

'• Where is my spear and my sword ? " (juoth 
our ruler. 

'• Here," said the .scribe, my poor self. 

'• Put on my leather coat, bronze hat, and 
leggings of scarlet leather, the finest in the king- 
dom," quoth he, " that the wizard and the war- 
riors and the maidens may see me in all my 
beauty, the strong war-ruler." 

It was done, and never finer appeared the 
man of muscle who carries the heaviest club. 

" Bring in the wizard," said Batta, — " who 
is there that is afraid ? " 

Then did my one knee exchange greetings 
with its fellow, as I the scribe went forth. For 
I was sore in terror, but Batta was not scared, 
though he was pale from his long sleep. 

Forth went 1 to the swordbearer, gave greet- 
ing, and bade him bring in him-who-makes- 

So the wizard was brought into the light of 
the presence of Batta, our ruler, who spoke 
thus : 

" Well done, Swordbearer. You have caught 
him, the bat who flies in darkness. Did he 
scratch you ? " 

" Not at all," answered he of the sword. " I 
bade him vow by the sun that he would do me 
no injury. And he .said he would vow me by 
the sun, the moon, the stars, or by whatsoever, 
if only again I would not poke him with my 
sword. So came he most quietly." 

" It was well done," quoth Batta. " There 
is yet some zebra. Regale yourself. The sauce, 
too, is good." 

Then my ruler and I were left with the 

" It has come to my ear," spake Batta, 
" that you live in a darksome cave beneath 
the hill that is before the sun, and work witch- 
craft, catching away my people's .souls with thy 
black box. What say you. O Wizard ? " 


The wizard smiled, but his lips were of the 
color of sand. 

'•O Batta," thus spake he, "I am but a 
poor man. I gather simples, herbs in the woods. 
I do cook them over the burning of sticks and 
of the black-stone-which-burns-long. Thus do 
1 extract their strength, and therewith do that 
which to common men seems strange." 

'■ Bui," said Batta, "all this is naught. Wliat 
of the box — the soul-catcher?" 

" It is but a picture-box," said the wizard. 
"It is curiou.sly wrought, and will do in a wink- 
ing of your royal eyelid more than a cunning 
worker in paint can do from dawn to dark." 

" But," again spoke Batta, " that is witch- 

" Nay, great ruler," replied the wizard, " it is 
no witchcraft, and it harms no one." 

" I fear me," said the ruler, making as he 
spoke a sniffing with his nose, " that there is the 
smell of enchantment about thee." 

" Pardon, wise ruler," replied he of the box; 
" that is but the odor of herb-extracts I use in 
making images." 

" And the stains upon thy hands ? " asked the 
keen-eyed, the wise Batta. 

" The same extracts," replied the wizard. " I 
can hardly remove them, though 1 wash me 
until I am weary with washing." 

" You have a glib tongue," was the saying 
of the ruler, " but I fear me it is of two ends.'' 

"Not so," answered the wizard; "there is 
nothing of the black art in me. It is a simple 
thing I do. See — " and he raised the box. 

" Point it not at me ! " spake Batta, rapidly. 
" Try it on yon scribe, for if harm .should befall 
him there are more among my people." 

Then would I have fled, but my legs sank 
beneath me. 

" Have no fear," .said the wizard ; " I have 
but to touch this little piece, and all is done, 
without harm to any." 

" I know nothing of your box," said Batta, 
and did lay chin upon his hand, like a coun- 
selor; "but mayhap I had better drop thee and 
thy box into the sea that rests not." 

Then the wizard set down the magic chest, 
and smote his breast. .'\t last he spoke : 

" Great ruler," said he, " if you will give me 
a few more risings and settings of the sun, and 


will send to my cave your scribe, I will show to 
him all my art, so that he may make the jncture- 
flats, likewise. You know that he is no evil 
worker, and he can tell you all my art. If not, 
you will know that I am speaking with a false 
tongue, and can throw me from the cliff ilown 
where the waves roll white." 

" 'T is httle risk," replied my ruler; " a .scribe 
more or a scribe less does not count in the roll 
of the fighting men. Take him, and work thy 
wicked w-ill upon him until the moon is a round 


in front which gleamed like the fire-flashing fly 
of the swamps in the early of the year. And 
we ate of divers strange things. There were 
two-shelled soft fish that he did fry until they 
were toothsome. [Note : Perhaps a form of 
the fried oyster.] And there were also the thin- 
shelled sea-pinchers who go sidewise as doth 
a maiden seeing a gnawer of grain. 

Wearied by the walk, I slept till the birds 
sang, and then rose to the meal of dawn. 

Soon after, the wizard brought out his box, 

y w '^■■^ ' 


shield. Come then again, and thou shalt be 
released or thrown into the sea which eats 

Then went I on my knees to the great Batta, 
trying with my tears to melt his heart. But 
as the drops from the wide-foot bird's back, so 
rolled my tears from the heart of Batta, who 
cared only for the good of his people. 

So went I with the wizard to the cave to 
learn of the jncture-flats. 

Midnight moonless was bright day to the light- 
less gloom of that cavern. But there was a fire 

and though I shrank m terror from it, he did 
smile and encourage me till I put a finger upon 
it. It bit me not, and I felt braver. But a 
scribe is not a warrior. His blood is but ink. 

The wizard said : 

" O Scribe, fear not. 'T is a box such as 
holds thy styluses and reed-pens. But it has 
curious bits of bronze and of rock-you-can-see- 
through, whereby it makes pictures. Come, and 
I will give you the knowing of it." 

Then he did open it ; and it was black inside 
as a burnt stick, and had an eye in the fore jiart. 



He clicked at it with the forefinger, and did 
])ut in a flat piece Hke gray flint, and behold ! 
a picture thereon, like unto the clear view of 
mid-day, but smaller than the face in a baby's 
eye. It was most marvelous ! lie did also 
twist a bit of bronze around and brought a fog 
upon the little picture, which, however, presently 
cleared away as he did twist more. 

[Note: Apparently the "wizard" was trying 
the focus upon what answered for the ground 

Thus did he several times, and behold I grew 
bold, and did the same under his direction ! 

Then went we forth under the sky, and the 
wizard asked if I would throw up my hood 
and catch it again. In wonder at his silliness, 
I nevertheless did that folly. And just then I 
heard the clicking of the box, and the wizard 

" I caught you well. I think it will conic out 
good." Thereat was I sore afraid 
lest my foolish play with my 
hood had wrought witch- 
ery upon me. I waited 
to see what would 
"come out." But 

naught came forth, 
nor did I see that he 
had me caught, for 
I had full freedom of 
limbs as before. 

He went into the 
cave, and I followed 
his footsteps. It was 
dark therein ; but when 
he told me that I must 
come, I went, though I 
shook yet a little. " For," 
said I to myself, " even if I 
escape the wizard by running 
forth, he, the mighty and swift-footed 
Batta, will have me sure by the tunic." indfk 

So I went. There was a little light 
burning there, but the wizard did forthwith blow 
it out with the breath of his mouth, and did 
with a flint enkindle another light — a horrible 
light, the color of the crimson at sunset. Even 
yet with eyes shut I can see that witch-glow. 

There in the redness did he open his box, 
draw forth a strange contrivance from which 


came a flat light-colored shell, four-cornered, 
and thin like scraped horn. This was dropped 
into an earthen dish which held some most ill- 
smelling compound. And he rocked the dish, 
to and fro, smiling a ghastly smile, — such as is 
the grin of the long shark in the water of the 
deep. But behold, the dark and the light took 
shape and became an image ! And if all the 
prophets and if all the counselors of the tribe 
were to prophesy till the hair of all was gray 
upon their shoulders, they could not have 
divined what was the image which came forth 
to mock me ! 

It was my soul. For as I leaped in the air 
to catch my hood, the wizard had caught my 
soul from me and fixed it there within the 
awful black-box-which-has-an-eye ! But I was 
changed so that my own dear mother would 
not have known me. My face, paler than that 
of the sun-burned warriors, was black like those 
of the men of the far south whose hair twists. 
My dark tunic was like the snow that flies in 

the sky when men 
walk upon rivers and 
'' the flowers die. All 
was like nothing I ever saw. 
Then did the wizard wash the flat piece in a 
spring that came from the rock near at hand, 
and he did wash and wash again, until even the 
weariness of the rocking was not so long. Then 
did he soak the piece in another licpior in yet 
another dish, while I was faint with the long 


Gladly I saw the sunlight again, and heard 
the birds chirp as if black caves were not. 

" More washing ? " I asked ; for it seemed that 
there would never be an end of the plashing of 

" Only a little," said the wizard. He did fix 
the flat piece next in a four-sided frame, and 
cooked it in the sunshine, while I wondered if 
he would desire me to eat my soul, baked in 
the sun, for dinner ! 

But after he had baked the frame, he did 
break it open, and then came more washing. 
I thought that the wizard would wear out his 
fingers with much plashing in the water. 

I think that my eyelids must have shut me to 
sleep for a while, but when I opened them there 
stood the wizard, and in his hand he did hold 
a picture wherein I was shown to leap like a 
horse in fresh pasture, bounding after my hood 
in the air with the fool-play I have told. 

Thus saw I first the making of pictures, and 
that day was like many that followed. Nay, 1 
did even make pictures myself with the wizard 
to stand by and say, " Do thou this," " Do thou 
so "; but of the witchcraft of it little did I know. 
I was but as his hand or foot in doing his 

In all that we did the wizard feared the light. 
For he said that the sun would steal away the 
pictures — which seemed strange enough to me. 

Meanwhile grew the moon, till it came round 
like a shield, and we were to go to the ruler. 
The last day I was with the wizard, I did make 
two pictures by myself, and he did praise me 
and gave me one wherein I did look too sweet, 
Hke unto the coo-bird, and brave as the roarer is 
brave before the bleater. This received I gladly, 
for I knew not before how comely I was. 

At sunrise did we set forth for the dwelling 
of Batta, the sagacious-in-combat. The wiz- 
ard carried the wonder-box. I did carry earth- 
enware jars filled with liquids and compounds, 
very heavy, and I did also carry many of the 
flat pieces, each closed cunningly in a case like 
a quiver. 

When we came unto the town, Batta sat u])on 
his throne beneath a sun-shield. 

" Aha ! Wizard," he cried, " then you have not 
eaten our scribe ? 'T is as well, mayhap. Now, 
has he learned your art ?" 



'• In sooth, that has he," said the wizard, 
cheerfully. ''Will not you try him?" 

" That I will," spake Batta. " Go thou to 
work. Scribe, and take three trials. Paint me 
the picture of Batta — Batta who puts foes to 
flight! Three trials shall be thine, and then — " 

So ceased Batta. But when the wizard tried 
to go with me to the hut, Batta forbade him. 

Then did I as I saw the wizard do ere he 
took the box for making a picture, and forth I 
sallied to do my best. 

As I came forth, I pointed the box at the 
great Batta, and I pushed upon the magic 
piece, and hurried back to the hut, which had 
been made dark save for the crimson light which 
we brought from the cave. Here went I through 
the washing. But no picture came ! 

Then strode I forth in sadness. 

The wizard pointed an accusing finger at the 
box, as I came out from the darkness of the hut, 
and then knew I what I had done ! I had not 
uncovered the eye of the box ! 

Again I essayed, and fled into the hut. but 
with careless hand did put the flat into the 
wrong And behold again no picture came ! 

Then came I forth in sadness. 

The wizard's face was like a dull day when 
the leaves are falling. But when I again pointed 
the magic-box, and opened its eye, and set in 
the proper pieces with all due caution, he smiled 

\Vith backward .step, I betook myself for the 
last time to the dark hut, and rocked and 
washed and soaked and washed till I was 
weary like unto the slaves that row the galley 
of Batta. 

And this time the picture came forth like sun- 
shine after a rain; and it was Batta — Batta 
upon his throne, and dressed as for war. Then 
rushed I forth rejoicing with my prize, and the 
wizanl made merry. 

]nto the warm sun did I set the picture to 
cook, and when I took it forth it was so like to 
Batta that I thought it would speak ; and I 
showed it to hiin proudly. 

But, as the cloud comes over the face of the 
sun, .so descended wrath upon the black brows 
of the great ruler as he gazed. 

"Do I look like that?" cried he to the 




'• It is your very image I " spoke up one of 
the younger warriors. 

'• You are banished for hie ! " roared the just 
and great ruler of his people. And it was so 
from that day forth. " Do 1 look like that / " 
he asked again, with the voice of a thunder- 
peal, this time turning to the white-haired 
counselor, he-who-speaks-little-but-wisely. 

'• I would not be so foolish as to say it was 
like \o\\, great Batta ! " answered the counselor; 

And it was done upon that instant. 

'■ It were best to send thee with thy tools!" 
said Batta ; and in a moment the wizard was 
hurried to the brink of the cliff which hangs 
over the playground of the waves — 

Here the manuscript is torn, and it is impos- 
sible to decipher it further. But I am sure tliat 
the reader will agree with me in deciding that 
it contains an early account of ]ihot()gra|)liy, 

Mir. ,!i?&^-? 



and the rest who stood about said that his words 
were wise. 

" Your art is no art ! " then said the great 
Batta ; and, calling the swordbearer, he or- 
dered that the wizard's box should be thrown 
into the sea, together with his vile compounds, 
his dishes, the liquids, and his flat pieces and the 
baleful red-fire maker. 

and also that the conclusion, imperfect as it is, 
would lead one to suppose that the art was 
somewhat discouraged. 

Those who desire to verify the translation will 
find the original document among the archives 
of the Grand Lama's Museum in Tibet. You 
will find it at the back of the top shelf on the 
left-hand side. 

A Y^^r wilK ])ol!y 

Under the tree5 , in tne loveliest place , 

WKeve tlie shadow and s\.u\ were playinO , 
Fanny and Lida and Lottie ajid Grace 

y\.nd i^olly and I went mayind ; 
J5ut tJ^e f Jowers wore lost or lii^^en owoy 

So 5afe we could. ^Cai'Ce find any - 
So we made the Do]]y Qu^cen of the Mov 
Cause blie \vnuldjil need So many 


^ |W'^v;i 

\ve <^ainered nrioss tor a throne of <J-een , 

A.nd. with violets blue we Cj'ow^ned her; 
V/e played tKat 5Ke was a Tairy Qtieen , 

And Oaily Wie dai"vced arotund "lier . 
-/K robn-i San<^ to vis overhead , 

A Sc^uirrel capei-ed arid chattered ; - 
Xnei\ a little t^ray mouse popped out ot' ]\\$ bed, 

And O how we jumped and scattered I 

thp: conspirators. 

By Emma Sherwood Chester. 

There were 
three of them, 
— John, Helen, 
and F'liciano, — 
and as they laid 
their heads to- 
gether, in a glim- 
mering comer of 
the library, it was 
clear to see that 
F'liciano was the 
leading spirit of the 

And why not, 
when his father 
had lived and died by means of plots, and 
F'liciano's very presence was but the result of 
one ? Down in San Domingo, whence he came, 
they used to have plots for breakfast, dinner, 
and tea, and F'liciano had learned to make 
them as cleverly — poor fellow! — as any of his 
older companions. 

Meanwhile, as we have said, the conspira- 
tors laid their heads together, in a corner of 
Mr. Stetson's library, and connived at a plan 
which was to bring happiness to all concerned. 
To understand the matter better, however, it 
will be necessary to go back, and to relate how 
F'liciano came to be in Mr. Stetson's library 
at all, and why it was important that he should 

devise a particularly clever plot just at this 
period of his life. 

He had been sent from San Domingo, Mr. 
Stetson explained to the gentlemen of his ac- 
quaintance, "for political reasons"; and this 
phrase was about as clear to F'liciano as if Mr. 
Stetson had quoted a line of Greek poetry in 
his hearing. All that he really knew or cared 
about was that he had come away in an ocean 
steamer, with the captain of which he had been 
great friends, and that he was now established 
in a charming home, with John and Helen 
Stetson for playmates and critics. 

F'liciano, alas ! had much to learn of the 
world. His pretty jacket of gold-laced velvet, 
all out at the elbows, would have been worn 
with a gay indifference had not Helen at once 
pronounced it " shockingly untidy," and taken 
it to her mother to mend. But the quaint 
bronze tint it was impossible to match, and F'li- 
ciano went about with neat little squares of a 
different color placed over the holes instead. 
These were a source of unending amusement 
to him, for patches were things unknown in his 
former estate. To be fringed and tattered, 
provided there was plenty of tinsel in the 
wreck, was his natural condition ; so that to 
reform into " what you call net [neat]," he told 
Helen, was comical indeed. 

He had a way, too, of flinging his hands in 
the air when he talked, and of permitting his 
pretty soft voice to mount higher and higher — 
"just the same," John objected, "when he 's 
talking about shoe-strings as if it was about 
])ictures or birds." 

But with all his odd manners, John and Helen 
had learned to esteem him so highly that 
when Mr. Stetson announced at the breakfast- 
table one morning that F'liciano's uncle had 
sent for him, and that he was to return to San 
Domingo by the next steamer, there was a cry 
of sorrow and dismay. 


F'liciano only, of the three, continued to eat 
his orange with composure. That his uncle 
had sent for him was one thing, but that he 
should go was quite another, he silently rea- 
soned. " My uncle," he said to Helen, who 
was crying over her porridge, " have sent for 
me. Well, you no need to cry. Come in the 
liberry after breakfas'. I tell you an' Juan 
about that plan of mine." 

Mr. Stetson, who had grown as callous to 
F'liciano's " jjlans " as to his other peculiarities, 
gave little heed to the announcement of a new 
one, and continued to read the morning paper, 
indifferent to the movements of the trio, who 
now proceeded to the library, at F'liciano's nod. 

" My uncle," he said, seating himself in an 
embrasure, and drawing the curtains well over 
John and Helen, to enhance the air of .secrecy, 
" he don' love me no more than he loves that 
stone carriage-block out there. No, sir; he don' 
love me no more than that. Why he sent for 
me ? Jus' because he very proud man. Some- 
body said to him, ' Your nephew F'liciano mus' 
live in the house of his relations; he mus' no 
more be the charity of Mr. Stetson.' An' then 
my uncle he turns red in the face, an' sends for 
me to come to San Domingo. Now, mus' I go 
'way — abandon you an' Juan — jus' because 
my uncle he is so proud ? Well, no ! " 

F'liciano fondled the neat little patches on 
his elbows, and continued : '■ You know, Helen, 
I had a birthday las' week. It was my twelve 
birthday. Now, when a man is so ol' as twelve, 
he can do 'mos' anything, he can be very useful. 
Mr. Stetson he don' know how useful I can be. 
When it is hot, I can stan' by his chair, an' 
wave the flies from annoying him ; an' when it 
is col', I can take his coffee to him in bed." 

American John thrust his hands in his pock- 
ets, and whistled. " My father never takes cof- 
fee in bed," he remarked. 

"Of cawse," said F'liciano, blandly; "for the 
reason no person gives it to him. Now that is 
what I should do." 

" He 'd rather have a jjitcher of hot water to 
shave with," persisted John. But F'liciano was 
firm. He had drawn up his plot at the break- 
fast-table, and that he should divulge it at all to 
John and Helen was a favor; that they should 
cavil at it was monstrous. 



On the following morning Mr. Stetson was 
aroused by a sharp rap on his door, and upon his 
bidding his visitor come in, F"'liciano entered, 
bearing upon a silver tray coffee in a cup in- 
scribed " FOR BABV," in solid gilt letters. This 
he presented to Mr. Stetson with a bow and 
the salutation, " Good-mornin', Mr. Stetson. I 
hope you fin' that coffee delicious." 

"Why, what 's all this?" cried Mr. Stet- 
son, springing out of bed, and working himself 
vigorously into his dressing-gown. " I 'm not ill. 
I '11 be down to breakfast presently. Who sent 
)T)u up with that thing?" 

" No person .sent me," .said F'liciano, reproach- 
fully ; " it was jus' a little thought of mine. 
Some peoples like to be useful." 

"Oh, — ah, — very good of you, I 'm sure, 
F'liciano," stammered Mr. Stetson, completely 
bewildered as to the meaning of this sudden 
" little thought." He seated himself on the 
edge of a chair and good-naturedly swallowed 
the coffee ; so that F'liciano retired smiling, sat- 
isfied that, in one direction at least, he had made 
himself indispensable to Mr. Stetson. 

When that gentleman came into the hall, he 
found his hat polished to the smoothness of a 
mirror and the lining of his coat turned care- 
fully to the steam-heater. There was a spray 
of chrysanthemums in the lapel of the coat, and 
his cane leaned conveniently against the sleeve. 
F'liciano held the knob of the door in his hand, 
and the slippery steps had been sprinkled with 

Mr. Stetson was amazed. It was like a royal 
progress. He should e.xpect to find roses and 
camelias strewn upon the pavements, and 
wreaths hung on his office doors. 

F'liciano, having obsequiously closed the door, 
ran to John and Helen. " The labo' of this day," 
he declared, " will certainly show Mr. Stetson 
the value of me. He will write to my uncle, 
' Your nephew F'liciano is so useful that I would 
not for the whole worl' spare him. I implore 
you to let me keep him in my house.'" 

" Did my father drink that coffee in l)ed ? " 
asked John. 

" Not exactly in bed," rei)lied I'"liciano, 
gravely, " but seated on a chair. He could 
hardly express his gratitude to me." 

" And what shall you do next ? " imiuired 


Till-: coNsni^ATOus. 


John, who never liked the least hitch or (kla\ 
in a performance of interest. "There 's all ilay 
before you, and you can't go to his office. He 
does n't like little boys to come there." John 
felt obligetl to give F'liciano the benefit of liis 

[•■'liciano tos.sed his head. " \\'h\-, see here, 
juaii, it would n't do for peo[)les to be too use- 
ful. .Momin's and evenin's an' church days 
they are enough. You could never dream, 
Helen, what I have to surprise Mr. Stetson with 
pleasure this evenin'"; saying whirh, he drew 
from his pocket a much- 
befingered card. '• Be- 
hold that! Read the 
contents of it ! " 

Helen read the head- 
ing: "F.AREWELL Per- 
formance OF Buffalo 
Bill," with all the small 
ty])e attached. 

"That," announced 
F'liciano, " is to confront 
him when he unfolds his 
napkin at dinner. Con- 
ceive his delight ! It is 
bought an' paid money 
for. All he has to do is 
to go." 

There were wander- 
ing doubts in the minds 
of John and Helen as 
to the success of F'lici- 

ano's plan to please their father ; but after a 
short consultation they wisely determined to 
keep silent until there should be a better occa- 
sion to speak. 

John confided to Helen on the stairs, "F'lici- 
ano has queer ideas. I don't believe pai)a would 
fiincy Buffalo Bill. Besides, he and mama have 
tickets for the opera that same evening. Would 
you tell F'liciano?" 

" No," said Helen, who somehow had a con- 
viction that F'liciano's plot would in the end 
find its way to her father's heart, even through 
such absurdities as Buffalo Bill and coffee in bed. 
" No, I think we 'd better just let F'liciano do 
whatever comes into his head. ( )f course ])apa 
will think it is all very strange. — F'liciano is so 
odd, — but bv and bv he will discover what it 

means, and 1 think it will end in F'liciano's 
staying all winter." 

When Mr. Stetson came home that evening, 
the hall door flew open as if by magic, and 
F'liciano's dusky little figure outlined itself 
against the homelike glow within. 

" Good-evenin', Mr. Stetson," he said. "I 
have the pleasure to take your hat an' coat." 

Mr. Stetson submitted dumbly. ".\n'," con- 
tinued F'liciano, flitting before him to the dining- 
room, " dinner is served." 

Mr. Stetson said grace, and unfolded his najj- 


kin, when out fell the grimy card : •• Fakkwki.l 
Performance of Buffalo Bill." 

F'liciano's dark face beamed. " 1 hope you 
fin' that performance delightful, Mr. Stetson. 
' Farewell' — you observe it is your las' oppor- 

Like most foreigners, F'liciano mastered large 
words more readily than small ones. 

Mr. Stetson's bewilderment it was impossible 
to conceal, but an imploring look from John, 
which said, " Wait until after dinner, and I '11 
tell you," restrained him from then and there 
butchering, though (juite by accident, F'lici- 
ano's sensitive feelings. 

" You see," John explained later. '• it 's a lit- 
tle plot, and you must n't let him know that 
\()U don't like it. F'liciano wants dreadfullv 




to Stay here. From what he says, that uncle and I '11 take ten cents, instead of a quarter, a 

of his is a stuck-up old muff, and he hates San week to spend. Will you ? " 

Domingo. He says he would n't go back Mr. Stetson put his arm around John's 

*' ' good-evenin', ^ 

there if they were to give him all the negroes 
— he said niggers — on the island. He wants 
to stay here and live with us, and Helen and I 
wish you would let him. He thought that if 
he should make himself useful to you, perhaps 
you could n't spare him ; and he bought that 
ticket to ' Buffalo Bill ' with his own money. 
He has n't any father and mother, you know, 
and since he stopped smoking those cigarettes 
I don't know but he 's as good as an Ameri- 
can. F'liciano thinks of lots of things, — about 
people's dropping things, or sitting in drafts, or 
not being comfortable, — and he makes very 
good bows. Helen and I like him first-rate. 
If you '11 let him stay, he can sleep in my bed ; 


" Norfolk " jacket, and looked pretematurally 
solemn. " But what about the uncle, if he 
should object ? " 

"Why, you must write and ask him — 'im- 
plore' him, F'liciano said — to let F'liciano stay 
in your house, because he is so useful. Be- 
sides, Helen and I are learning Spanish of him. 
I can say, ' // sahio, — // sabio,' — I forget the 
rest of it, — and I think it would be a real ad- 
vantage to Helen and me if he should stay." 

" And you are quite sure that you learn no 
harm from him ? " Mr. Stetson asked. 

" Why, Papa," said John, seriously, " F'liciano 
is an uncommonly good boy. Besides, you can 
see for yourself how obliging he is." 



For a week Mr. Stetson sutTcred silently un- 
der the little Spaniard's various attempts at 
being " useful," which grew more and more in- 
defatigable as the time drew near for the ne.xt 
steamer to sail for San Domingo. It was scan- 
dalous, this drinking coffee in bed every morn- 
ing, and being waited upon like an Oriental 
potentate ; but, not to offentl poor F'liciano, 
he endured it for a time. 

Then he sent a cable-despatch to the uncle : 
" Your nephew invaluable. Part with him only 
if you insist." 

Word came back : " Seiior Domingues has 
the honor to submit the services of his nephew 
F'liciano to Seiior Stetson," with no word left out 
for economy ; and with this gracious document 
still in his hand, Mr. Stetson called F'liciano 
to him. 

'• You have shown nie your desire to be of 
service to me," he said ; '• and I am convinced, 
F'liciano, that you will try to give me no 
trouble. You need not bring my coffee to my 

room any more — 1 prefer to get up; and you 
need not spend any more money on ribbons 
and flowers for me. 1 am assured of your gen 
erosity and of your goodness of heart. And 
now, as your uncle has given his consent to 
your staying with us, 1 shall only ask that you 
continue to be the truthful and good-natured 
boy you have shown yourself to be heretofore." 

F'liciano burst into une.xpected tears. 

" I had a fear, Mr. Stetson," he sobbed, 
" that you did not like me being useful ; an' 
that Buffalo Bill, I fin' his card in the ash-box. 
But oh, Mr. Stetson, I '11 be jus' the bes' boy 
ever live', if you '11 tell my uncle you can't get 
along without me ! " 

Mr. Stetson found, in time, that it was indeed 
so ; for, with a better knowledge of American 
wants, the warm-hearted little Spaniard soon 
discovered more gratifying methods of being 
" useful," as he called it, to his friends, and his 
really honest, generous nature soon won for him 
the affectionate esteem of the household. 



(.•/ Tale of Tnasiirc Trm'C in the Stmts of Nfw York.) 

By Brander Matthews. 

\Beg:it, ill t/u- NoVL-iiiber n,iii:bir.\ 

Chapter XII. 


NCLE DICK look- 
ed at Tom for a 
moment. Then be 
whistled gently. 

it was a problem in alt;el)ra. Jeffrey Kerr was 
my .v. He was n't exactly an unknown quan- 
tity, but there was a lot about him I did n't 
know. I set down the facts, and then tried to 
work out my x — that is, to see what had become 
of Kerr. If what my grandfather had found 
out and written down was right, then the thief 
had vanished suddenly after he had got past the 
"If you have sentries of Wa.shington's army. Now, this morn- 
found out that, ing when I was waking up I found that I was 
then you have the thinking about this problem, just as if I had 
finest Christmas been at work on it in my sleep, puzzling it out 
present of us all." in a dream. I was still half asleep when I 
" I think I have," found that one thought kept on coming back 
Tom declared. and coming back. And I suppose that thought 

" I 'm very glad to hear it," his uncle re- was the present Santa Claus had brought me 
sponded heartily. " Now, sit down here and during the night, as you said he would." 
tell me all about it." 

Tom took a chair and 
sat down beside Mr. 

" I think I know where 
the thief is," the boy 
began, " and I hope I 
know where the gold is ; 
though, of course, I 'm 
not sure. After all. it 
is only a guess, but 

'• If you express all 
your doubts before you 
let me have all the 
facts," interrupted Unile 
Dick, " it will be a long 
time before I can see 
what you are driving 
at. Better begin at the 

" The real beginning," 
Tom answered, "was 
when I got to looking 
at this mystery just as if 

" I did n't say that he would, for sure," said 
Mr. Rapallo. " 1 hoped that perhaps he might. 
What was it that he told you ? " 

" It seems so simple," Tom continued, ■• that 
I don't see how I ever came to miss seeing it 
for so long." 

" The greatest ideas are generally the sim- 
plest," Uncle Dick remarked, encouragingly. 
"You remember that little egg trick of Co- 

'• And it never seemed to me unite fair either," 
Tom returned, "because — " 

" Don't let 's discuss that now," his uncle 
interposed. '■ What was your new idea ? " 

" Well," Tom went on, " I found myself think- 
ing that as Kerr had left the American army, 
and as he had n't got to the British army, and 
as he had n't ever been seen anywhere since 
that night, or heard of by anybody, — why, per- 
haps the shot the sentinel had fired at him had 
wounded him badly — you remember my great- 
grandfather's account said there was a cry of 
[)ain after that second shot ? " 

" I remember," said Uncle Dick. 

" And if the shot had wounded him badly," 
Tom continued, "that perhaps he had fallen 
dead somewhere between the lines, and that 
perhaps somehow his body had got covered 
over or concealed or something of that sort, 
and so it might perhaps be there now." 

" I understand," Mr. Rapallo remarked, as 
Tom paused for a moment to see if his uncle 
were following him. " If the body was hidden 
then, there is no reason why it might not be 
there to this day. But where can it be hidden ? 
That will be a difficult question to solve." 

Tom smiled cheerfully. " Well," he said, " of 
course I don't know that I 've found out that, 
certain sure ; but I 've got another idea about 
that, too." 

'• Produce idea number two ! " ordered Uncle 

" .\s soon as I had really got hold of the first 
idea — the one that possibly Kerr was wounded 
by that shot and that his body might be there 
now — I waked right up," Tom responded ; 
" and it was when I was wide awake that I 
wondered where we could look for Kerr's body, 
with the gold on it. jjerhaps. Suddenly it struck 
me that as Kerr was trying to escape to the 
Vol. XIX.— 32. 


British, and as he knew the country, — he 'd 
been living up near here at an old mill for 
months before, — why, he 'd naturally try some 
kind of a short cut. Tiiere was a little brook 
separating those two camps, and it had been 
raining hard all day, — I looked at the old 
new.spajjer to make sure of that, but I believe 
it nearly always does rain hard after there 's 
been a battle, — and so I thought the brook 
would be high, and Kerr was smart enough to 
know that it would be, and so perhaps he 'd 
make for those stepping-stones. You remem- 
ber, I once showed them to you marked on the 
map my great-grand-father made ? " 

" Yes, I remember," Mr. Rapallo replied ; 
"and I think I see where you are going. I 
should n't wonder if you were on the right 
track at last." 

Tom's eyes lighted again with pleasure as he 
continued : 

" I got out that map, and I looked to see 
if it would help me. Well, the place is marked 
where the first sentry stood that fired at Kerr, 
and then the place is marked where the second 
sentry stood when he fired; so I drew a line from 
one to the other, and I thought that would show 
which way Kerr was going. Then I stretched 
out that line toward the British troops to see 
where he would cross the brook ; and I foimd 
that if he had kept on the same way he started, 
then he was running straight for those stepping- 
stones which my great-grandfather had marked 
in his plan." 

" And supposing you are right ?" Uncle Dick 

" Supposing I 'm right," Tom responded, " and 
supposing he was badly wounded, perhaps 
when he got to those stepping-stones and tried 
to cross, he slipped and fell in. You see the 
brook was up, and maybe the water was over 
the top of some of those stones. It was a very 
dark night, and he was running for his life, and 
perhaps he slipped and fell into the pool." 

'• Well ? " said Mr. Rapallo. 

" Well, if he did," Tom went on — " if he did 
fall, and he was wounded, and the current was 
strong, and he had all that heavy gold weighing 
him down, perhaps he was drowned there." 

'• If that ha|jpened," Uncle Dick inquired, 
" why was n't the body found next day ? " 


" 1 thoiigln," Tom suggested, " that perhaps 
the strength of the current might have rolled 
the body into the deepest part of the pool, and 
then the sand and dirt and things which the 
brook was carr)-ing down would be caught by 
the body ; and perhaps there would be enough 
of them to cover it up completely. And if 
there was, why, then perhaps the gold is there 

" With the skeleton of the thief guarding it 
for you," said Mr. Rapallo. 

" What do you think about this idea ? " Tom 
asked an.\iously. 

" I think," his uncle replied, " that you are 
probably right. I see that your story has a 
' perhaps ' in almost every sentence. Perhaps 
the man was wounded, perhaps he tried to cross 
at the stepping-stones, perhaps he slipped, per- 
haps he was drowned partly by the weight of 
the guineas he had stolen, perhaps the brook 
washed down sand and earth enough to cover 
him, and perhaps nobody has ever found him. 
Here are perhapses enough and to spare, you 
must admit." 

As his uncle paused, Tom's face fell. This 
did not seem so cordial an acquiescence as he 
had hoped for. 

" But your theory at least fits all the facts as 
we know them," said Mr. Rapallo, cheerfully. 
" It seems to me excellent as a ' viforking hypoth- 
esis,' so to speak. At least it may very well 
explain the mystery of Kerr's disappearance. 
And if I were you I should go ahead on this 
line, and fight it out if it takes all winter." 

" Will you help me ? " asked Tom, eagerly. 

" Of course I will," his uncle responded 
heartily. " Whatever I can do, I will. First 
of all, have you any idea where the current 
would have taken the body of the thief?" 

" Yes," Tom answered quickly ; " I think I 
know — at least I 've been guessing at it. On 
the map the pool is shaped soinewhat like a 
figure eight, with the stepping-stones at the 
middle in the narrow part, and with the lower 
end swung on one side in a sort of bay ; and 
the brook goes on out of one corner of this 
sort of bay. Now, it seems to me that if Kerr 
slipped off the stepping-stones, he probably 
rolled to the middle of this lower pool — and 
that he is there now." 

" Do you think that any one else has found 
his body? " asked Uncle Dick. 

" No," said Tom. " At least I think nobody 
has ever thought of digging there. The brook 
has dried up only since they began to open the 
streets through here. I showed you where the 
stepping-stones are, and the little pool just be- 
low them is still to be traced out — at least I can 
do it now I 've seen the map. The trouble is 
that the pool is in a vacant block which they 
have begun to fill in. The lots are 'way down 
below the level of the street. They 've done 
some filling in, and they are going to do more 
soon. I went there to see it just now, and I 
think I could see the edge of the pool distinctly. 
But the part where I guessed the guineas were 
has been filled in twenty feet at least." 

" Does a street run across it ? " Mr. Rapallo 
inquired. " Foolish people used to think that 
the streets of great cities were paved with gold ; 
and it would be curious if there were really 
treasure hidden down below their surfaces." 

" This is n't a street," Tom explained ; " it 's 
just the ordinary filling in, with rubbish and 
dirt and old brickbats and ashes and things. 
It starts about the middle of the block and 
makes a sort of bow-window into the middle 
of the vacant lots." 

" Then how are you going to get out tlie 
golden guineas ? " asked Uncle Dick. 

" That 's just what I don't know," Tom an- 
swered. " I 'm counting on you to help me out 

" I 've mined for gold in California, and for 
silver in the Black Hills, and for diamonds in 
South Africa," Mr. Rapallo replied with an 
amused smile ; " but I never supposed that I 
should sink a shaft in the streets of New York 
in search of buried treasure. It will be a novel 
experience, at any rate. But we must see what 
we can do. This afternoon, if you will take me 
over to the place where the pool was. I '11 have 
a look around." 

Tom arose to go. \\'hen he had opened the 
door he hesitated and then .said: "If you don't 
mind, Uncle Dick, I 'd rather we did n't say 
anything about this 'working hypothesis' until 
we know whether it will work or not." 

" Certainly not," Mr. Rapallo replied. " It is 
alwavs best to sav nothing till vou have some- 

thing to show. ' When in doubt, hold your 
tongue' — there's a good motto." 

Then he came out into the hall to Tom, and 
they went down-stairs together to their Christ- 
mas breakfast. 

Chapter XIII. 


X Mrs. Paulding's 
family it was the 
tradition to keep 
Christmas and to 
make presents ; but 
the moderate cir- 
cumstances of the 
household prevent- 
ed the purchase of 
costly gifts. Nor 
was the preparation of presents made by the 
giver allowed to become burdensome. There 
are homes where the pressure of Christmas 
giving has crushed out the proper Christmas 
feeUng, — where the obligation is accepted of 
providing every other member of the house- 
hold with a present which is often useless and 
which is always expensive. Nothing of this 
sort was seen at Mrs. Paulding's fireside. With 
gentle tact she found out early in the fall what 
were the cherished desires of her children ; and, 
in so far as her means might allow, she gratified 
these at Christmas. They in turn consulted each 
other and saved up their pocket-money that 
they might give her something likely to be 

On this Christmas morning there was the 
added interest of Uncle Dick's being in the 
house. Just what to give him had greatly puz- 
zled Tom and Polly, but they had at last hit 
upon things they thought their uncle would 
welcome. Polly made him a " housewife " to 
contain needles and thread and buttons and 
tapes, and a tiny pair of scissors. 

She explained to Tom that if Uncle Dick 
ever went back to South Africa, or even out 
West again among those Indians, she thought 
the needles and the other accompanying tools 
of woman's craft might be very useful. 

" If the real Africans," she said, " are anything 
like the pictures in my jog., I don't believe that 


Lfncle Dick could find one of them to do his 
sewing for him. They can't have had much 
practice in making buttonholes. If those pic- 
tures are right, then I should n't wonder if there 
was n't a single sewing-machine in all South 
.\frica. So, you see, he might have to mend 
his own clothes some day and sew on buttons. 
Of course he 's only a man and he would n't do 
it well ; but, all the .same, I think he ought not 
to go away again without needle and thread." 

Mr. Rapallo had told them that he never 
knew how long he would be able to stay with 
them. He might, at any time, be called away 
suddenly ; and if he once went, he could not 
guess when he should get back. 

Tom had borne in mind this possibility of his 
uncle's traveling, and he had gone over to Cissy 
Smith's, whose father had given him a lathe the 
year before ; and with Cissy's assistance Tom 
had turned a box large enough to hold a few of 
the indispensable effects of a traveler. 

When Tom and his uncle came down that 
Christmas morning, they found Mrs. Paulding 
and Pauline waiting for them at the breakfast- 
table ; and the presents were placed at the plate 
of each member of the household. 

Mrs. Paulding w-as always pleased with what 
her children gave her ; and she had interpreted 
their desires so sympathetically that they were 
sure to be delighted with her presents to them. 

Uncle Dick thanked Pauline for the house- 
wife and Tom for the box. 

" What do you suppose I have for you ? " he 
asked. Perhaps he had noticed a slight sha- 
dow of disappointment on their faces when they 
failed to find by their plates any gift from him. 

" I don't know," said Tom, interested in the 
presents in spite of his excitement over his 
" working hypothesis" as to the whereabouts of 
the stolen guineas. 

" But I 'm sure it will be simply lovely," 
volunteered Pauhne. 

" Well," .said Uncle Dick, " for a long while 
I could not find out what any of you wanted ; 
but at last I heard Polly say that she wished 
she w'as rich enough to buy her mother a sew- 
ing-machine, because there were so many things 
she wanted to make for herself So I have got 
a sewing-machine for Polly ; it is now up-stairs 
in her room." 



" Oh, Uncle ! " cried Polly. "Thank you ever 
so much ! " and she jumped from her chair and 
ran around and kissed him. 

" And one day," Uncle Dick resumed, '• when 
Tom and 1 were walking by the water, I heard 
him say that he wished he had a telescope to 
look uj) and down the stream. Now, a telescope 
is not so useful as a field-glass; and if Tom 
will look under his chair he will find a field- 
glass through which he can see a good man\- 
miles up the Hudson." 

After Tom had thanked him, Mr. Rapallo 
turned to his sister and said, "The present I 
hoped to have for you, Mary, is not ready yet. 
I may have it by New Year's — and I may have 
to go after it. But 1 think you will like it when 
you get it, and — " 

"I am sure I shall, Richard," was Mrs. 
Paulding's response. 

"And until you do get it," Uncle Dick con- 
tinued, ■' I sha'n't tell you anything at all about 

'■ Hut — " Polly began, with a keen disappoint- 
ment depicted in her face. 

'•^ But" her uncle interrupted, "you will have 
to possess your soul in patience, for I shall not 
give you a hint about it until you see it." 

" An' quite right, too," .said the Brilliant Con- 
versationalist, who was bringing in the buck- 
wheat cakes. "The child may be sure that 
whatever you buy, Mr. Richard, will be beauti- 
ful. See what I found in me kitchen this mom- 
in' " ; and she produced a pair of rather startling 
ear-rings that Uncle Dick had bought for her. 

After breakfast they all went to church ; and 
after dinner Uncle Dick called Tom and took 
him oft' for a walk. 

" I want you to show me the place where you 
think Jeffrey Kerr lies buried, with the gold 
he stole from your great-grandfather concealed 
about his skeleton," he said as they started out. 

Tom led him straight to the vacant lots, into 
which from about the middle of the block a 
tongue of made land projected. 

"There 's where the stepping-stones were, ac- 
cording to this map," said Tom, as he handed 
the paper to his uncle. "That big boulder 
there used to be one of them, I think ; and as 
far as I can make out, those two other high 
rocks over there belonged to them, too." 

It took Mr. Rapallo but a short time to 
fiimiliarize himself with the ground before him 
and to identify it with that sketched out in the 
rough but fairly accurate map which he held 
in his hand. As yet there was hardly a house 
within two or three blocks on either side ; and 
in one of the adjoining blocks also, below the 
street-level, it was not difficult to trace the course 
of the brook, partly by the stones and partly by 
the stumps of the broken willows which had 
lined its banks here and there. The outline 
of the pool below the stepping-stones was less 
easy to make out, but at last Mr. Rapallo and 
Tom were able to identify its limits to their 

"Where do you think the deep part of the 
pool was ? " asked Uncle Dick. 

" Here," said Tom, as he pointed to a stone 
which projected a little from the edge of the 
peninsula of filled land. " I think that is the 
tip of a tall rock marked in the map ; and if it 
is, then the deep part of the pool was just 
behind that." 

'• That is to say," his uncle rejoined, " if the 
body of Jeffrey Kerr is here at all, it is buried 
somewhere near the base of that stone ? " 

" Yes," Tom answered ; " don't you think so ? " 

" 1 think your enthusiasm is catching," Uncle 
Dick replied; "and now I am here on the spot, 
I begin to believe that the stolen gold is down 
there somewhere, almost under our feet. By the 
way, how far down do you suppose it is ? " 

" I 've been thinking about that," Tom re- 
turned, "and I believe that the skeleton must 
be several feet below the level of the bottom of 
the old pool, as it is now — perhaps only a foot 
or so, and perhaps three or four." 

"And the part of the pool near the rock there 
is buried under at least ten feet of dirt, ashes, 
and all sorts of builder's rubbish. It won't be 
easy for us to excavate this to prospect for that 

"Suppose we go down and look at it," Tom 

His uncle started down the steep incline and 
the boy followed. At the point where the rock 
stood, the level of the lot was fully twenty feet be- 
low the surface of the street ; and farther down, 
nearer the river, it sloped away still deeper. In 
the hollows here and there the snow lingered. 




dry and harsh beneath their feet. The ground 
was frozen hard. 

"There is no use in our trying to do anything 
here until there is a thaw," Mr. Rapallo de- 
clared. "In fact, I think that it will be best 
to postpone our serious effort to excavate until 

"And when spring comes will you be here, 
l^ncle Dick ? " Tom asked eagerly. 

"That 's more than I can say, Tom," he an- 
swered. "It depends — well, it depends on 
many things." 

"And in spring how- are we going to dig out 
all that dirt?" Tom inquired. 

" I don't know how we shall do it," Mr. 
Rapallo replied. " But you will find a way out 
of that difficulty, I 'm sure. What I wonder 
about is whether we shall be able to get per- 
mission to dig here." 

" Shall we have to ask leave ? " cried Tom in 
great surprise. 

" It is n't our land, is it ? " answereil his 

" But it is our money," Tom urged in re- 

Mr. Rapallo smiled. " The money is yours, 
no doubt," he said ; " but it will be best for you 
to get the right to see if it is buried here." 

" And suppose we can't get it ? " Tom de- 

" We '11 discuss that when the permission is 
refused. Don't cross the stream till you get 
there. In the mean time I '11 look up the owner 
of this land — " 

" But I don't know who owns it," said Tom. 

" I can find out all about it, down-town 
to-morrow ; and that 's the first thing to do. It 
is our duty at least to try to get permission to 
enter on another man's land. As you grow 
older, Tom, you will find that the short cut is 
the straight way ; in morals as in geometry, the 
straight line is the shortest distance between 
two points.'' 

That evening, when they were finishing their 
supper, there came a sudden clang of bells and 
the rattling rush of a fire-engine. 

" There 's a fire I " cried Tom, with an appeal- 
ing look at his mother. Tom had the Ameri- 
can boy's intense fondness for going to see 
fires : but his mother did not like to have him 

run after the engine at night, as many other lads 
were allowed to do. 

" I pity the poor people house it is ! " 
said Mrs. Paulding, not replying to Tom's 
glance of appeal. 

" It 's a long while since I have seen a fire 
here," Uncle Dick remarked, rising from the 
table. " I think I shall go and take a look at it. 
Would you like to come, too, Tom ? " 

" Would n't I just ? " Tom replied, as the 
hose-carriage rattled past the house in hot pur- 
suit of its engine. " May I go, mother ? " 

" Let him come with me," said Uncle Dick. 
" I '11 keep guard over him, and I '11 return him 
right side up with care." 

" Wrap yourself up well, Tom," said his 

" I wish I was a boy and could go to fires," 
declared Pauline. " When I 'm grown up I 
shall live next door to an engine-house, and 
I '11 make friends with the firemen, and when 
there 's a great, big fire, I '11 get them to let me 
ride on the engine." 

As Uncle Dick and Tom were leaving the 
house, Mr. Rapallo turned back and said to his 
sister : 

" Mary, don't be uneasy about this boy, and 
don't sit up for him. If there 's anything to 
see, I shall not hurry back, and Tom will stay 
with me." 

It was lucky that Mrs. Paulding had thus 
been warned, as her brother and her son re- 
turned to the house long after midnight. 

By the fiery track of the glowing sparks 
which the engine had left behind it, Mr. Ra- 
pallo and Tom were able to go direct to the 
conflagration, one of the largest ever seen on 
that part of Manhattan Island. The fire had 
begun, no one knew how, in a new warehouse, 
which had recently been completed at the 
water's edge, between the railroad and a nar- 
row wharf built out into the river. This building, 
half filled with combustible goods, was blazing 
fiercely when Uncle Dick and Tom came out 
at the up])er end of the Riverside Park, where 
they could look down into the fiery furnace on 
the bank of the frozen river below. 

Tom found Cissy Smith standing there with 
his father; and while Dr. Smith and Mr. Ra- 
])allo renewed their acquaintance, broken ofT 


since Uncle Uick had last been in Denver, live 
years before, Cissy greeted Tom heartily. 

"That 's a bully old fire, is n't it?" he cried. 

"It 's the biggest I 've ever seen," 'i'om 


carrying the tlanies toward the tall piles of 
planks, scattering sparks over the neighboring 
houses, and freezing the water almost as it left 
the nozles of the hose. Despite the intense heat 
of tlic burning' building, long icicles began to 

From the first the firemen seemed hopeless of 
saving the warehouse where the fire had started, 
for the flames had gained full control over it 
before a single engine was able to throw a 
stream on it. There was difficulty in getting 
water, as more than one hydrant was frozen 
solid; it took precious time to thaw them out 
by building bonfires all over them. The center 
of the river was still open and the ice inshore 
was not so thick that a resolute steamboat could 
not crush through it. Soon after Tom and Cissy 
had taken their places to see the spectacle, a 
fire-boat came up the river and forced its way 
through the ice till it stopped almost alongside 
the burning building. Leaving this boat to at- 
tend to the warehouse, the firemen ashore turned 
their attention chiefly to preventing the spread 
of the conflagration. There was a lumber-yard, 
piled high with boards and planks, within a 
hundred feet of the blazing storehouse, and the 
saving of this was a work of great difficulty. 
The labor of the firemen was made doubly 
severe by a chill wind which blew up the river. 

descend from every projecting plank in the yard, 
and the firemen were soon clad in a frozen coat 
of mail, stiff and crackling as the wearers went 
about their work. 

While the two boys were standing there on 
the hilltop, enjoying the magnificent spectacle, 
with no thought of the cost at which it was pro- 
vided, and accepting it as a sort of unexpected 
and superior Fourth-of-July celebration, Cork- 
screw Lott came twisting up the hill toward 
them, as fast as his high boots would carry him. 
As he drew near it seemed to Tom that Lott 
was taller than ever. 

"He 's getting on for six feet," said Tom, 

"'Ill weeds grow apace,'" returned Ci.ssy; 
"at least that 's what my father says." 

" I say. Cissy," cried Lott, a])proaching hastily, 
"where 's your father?" 

"He 's here," Cissy answered. "What 's the 

"They want the doctor cpiick, down at little 
Jimmy Wigger's aunt's," Lott replied. 

"Wlio 's hurl?" Tom asked. 

"It 's little Jimmy himself," Lott responded. 
■'• His aunt sent him out on an errand, and he 
did n't look sharp, and one of the engines came 
around a corner and ran over him, and they 
think he 's broken something inside." 

Cissy told his father, and under Corkscrew's 
guidance Dr. Smith and his son went off to the 
house of little Jimmy's avmt. 

Tom and Uncle Dick stood watching the fire 
that was leaping higher than ever, in despite of 
the long curves of water which spent themselves 
in vain in their attack on it. The steam from 
the engines rose white in the night air, and the 
ruddy glare of the fire colored the arching lines 
of water that the steamboat poured into the 
burning building. 

"There 's a sort of likeness in this operation," 
said Uncle Dick, "to hydraulic mining. At 


Monotony Dam, in California, I have seen a 
bigger stream than all those put together; and, 
w-hen the full head of water was turned on, it 
would eat into the side of a hill and wash out 
the pay-gravel by the ton." 

Tom, being greatly interested by this remark, 
was about to ask for an explanation of tlie 
methods of hydraulic mining, when his uncle 
turned to him suddenly. 

"Tom," he said hastily, "come to think of it, 
that 's the way you may get at that buried 
treasure of yours." 

"How?" asked Tom. 

" We '11 turn on a stream of w-ater and wash 
the guineas out of that bank of rubbish. I 've 
done a good many odd things in my life, first 
and last, but I confess it will be a novel experi- 
ence to try hydraulic mining for gold right here 
in the streets of New York ! " 

(To be continued.) 

or long ago a little Ameer Shere AH was the first to introduce post- 

("icrmanboyinPrus- age-stamps in the city of Cabul, and when he 

sia was making a collecdon of rare postage- was dethroned by the British in 1879, a quantity 

stamps, but had failed to obtain any of those of stamps were seized by Sir Louis Cavag- 

queer-lookingstampsof Afghanistan, with a nari who was English Resident at the court of 

tiger's head roughly oudined upon them, known Ameer Yakoob Khan. Cavagnari was slain in 

as the Cabul stamps of the reign of Shere .Mi. the same year, and Yakoob Khan was sent a 


state prisoner to India, where he was intrusted to The ex- Ameer was pleased by the letter, and 
the care of an English officer; and Cabul stamps a selection of Cabul stamps was sent by an 
of the reign of Shere Ali became rare. Only early mail, with a letter written by the English 
a limited number came into the European and officer, explaining that his Highness the ex- 
American markets, and the httle German boy of Ameer of Cabul had great pleasure in comply- 
whom we write found it impossible to procure ing with the request of a good little German 
them in Berlin. At last he determined to write boy, as he had heard of the greatness of the 
to the ex-Ameer Yakoob Khan, who he had German people. 

heard was a tender-hearted man, and fond of In due course the British officer received the 

children. following reply : 

The German boy'; 
translated as follows : 

letter to him may be 

Your Majesty, I am a little German boy, and am 
making a collection of stamps. I wisli very much to 
procure some stamps of your Majesty's kingdom, and 
sliall be very much obliged if your Majesty would send 
me some. 

Kind English Officer : The stamps which you have so 
Kindly sent me have arrived, and are much valued by me 
in my collection. I showed them, and your letter, to a 
distinguished German officer who is staying at my father's 
house, and he is so pleased with the kindness of an Eng- 
lish officer to a little German boy that I asked him to 
give me his photograph to send to you, which he has 
done, and he hopes you will accept it. 

The letter reached Bombay in due time and To the surprise and pleasure of the English 

was despatched by railway to Saharanpoor, officer, the photograph inclosed was that of 

where the letter-bag was placed on the back the Commander-in-Chief of the German Army, 

of an Indian coolie and carried up the hills to and the autograph written under it was " Von 

Massourie, which is a hill-station of the Hima- Moltke, Field-marshal." 

layas, some 6000 feet above the level of the Upon inquiry it appeared that the "little Ger- 

sea. Here the ex- Ameer Yakoob Khan was be- man boy " was the son of a great German man- 

ing carefully and comfortably lodged in charge ufacturer, whose name is well known in Prussia 

of an English officer. as one who has provided benevolent institutions 

Yakoob Khan does not know German, but for workmen. His father was entertaining Field- 

the "little boy's" letter was translated by the marshal Von Moltke at his house when the Cabul 

interpreter into Pushto, or the Afghan tongue, stamps sent by the English officer arrived. 


Bv Ann.\ M. Prati 

I STUDIED my tables over and over, and back- 
ward and forward, too ; 

But I could n't remember six times nine, and 
I did n't know what to do. 

Till sister told me to play with my doll and 
not to bother my head. 

" If you call her 'Fifty-four' for a while, you '11 
learn it by heart," she said. 

So I took my favorite, Mary Ann (though I 
thought 't was a dreadful shame 

To give such a perfectly lovely child such a 
perfectly horrid name), 

And I called her my dear little 'Fifty-Four' 

a hundred times, till I knew 
The answer of six times nine as well as the 

answer of two times two. 

Next day Elizabeth Wigglesworth, who always 

acts so proud. 
Said, " Six times nine is fifty-two," and I 

nearly laughed aloud I 
But I wished I had n't when teacher .said, 

" Now, Dorothy, tell if you can," 
For I thought of my doll and — sakes alive ! — 

I answered — " Afarv Ann .' " 





By E. Vinton Blakh. 

THIS wasm Popocar- 
1 What the name 
means, I don't 
know ; they 
hivein Mexico 
and in Lower 
C a 1 i f o r n i a 
some names 
curious enough 
to Northern ears. 
All the rest of 
■our party had gone by the more northern route 
through the Santanta Pass. My companion, 
Will Grant, had said to me, " You just come 
round with me through Popocarina Valley, and 
I '11 show you a queer thing." Being ques- 
tioned as to what manner of thing it might be, 
he merely laughed and declared that I would 
find out soon enough. 

But instead of viewing this curiosity, we got 
ourselves into a singular and dangerous situation. 
Popocarina is picturesque enough, lying below 
as one rides down the rough, precipitous moun- 
tain road. The one street is irregular, and the 
low, square-built adobe houses nestle among 
peach-, plum-, and mango-trees, bananas, and 
little patches of corn and wheat. On the way 
to it, however, the cactus reached thorny arms 
at us as we rode ; the prickly-pear blossoms, red 
here and there, and the yucca and aloes were 
scattered about. 

" Pretty enough from here," said Gram, with 
a new slant to his one-sided hat, as he traced 
with his eye the silver ribbon of the river that, 
flowing under the solid old stone arches, cuts 
Popocarina in two. 

" Oh, you don't tliiiik the beauty holds out 
on a nearer view ? " said I. 
Grant shook his head. 

" You 've been here before, it seems," said I. 

" Of course I have," he answered, " for my 

own benefit, and now I 'm a-comin' for yours." 

"You 're \ery kind," said I, laughing, "but 
when I have found out what you mean to show 
me, I '11 appreciate your kindness better. Is it 
a work of nature or art ? " 

Grant looked a little puzzled. 

" I told you there war n't much beauty in the 
place anyhow; too much rubljish — too much 

Pulque is a kind of Mexican brandy. 

" Well," said I, " that, I am sorry to say, is a 
common fault in these parts." 

In due time we brought up at the inn. No- 
body seemed about; we led our horses into 
the lonely grass-grown court, to drink at the 

A door creaked ; and then appeared an old 
Mexican woman, who mumbled out a saluta- 
tion, stepped back, and closed the door behind 

" There 's hospitality," said I, and we both 
laughed. '• Tell me, is there no other inn in 
this wretched place ? " 

" Keep cool, keep cool. You have n't seen 
the last of 'era yet," responded my friend. 

Indeed, in three minutes, Sehor the pro- 
prietor bustled into the court, profuse in wel- 
comes and apologies. 

Our horses were taken, and we were ushered 
into a long bare hall with very dirty stone seats 
ranged along the sides. 

We wanted dinner. 

" What would the gentlemen be pleased to 
order ? " 

" Got any mutton ? " said Will Grant. 

" Unfortunately, no, senor 1 The rascals of 
soldiers have left me no single sheep of all my 
Hock. Otherwise — " 

" (iot any beef? " 

"Alas, no, sefior! The soldiers — " and again 
he repeated his plaint. 

"See here, senor," said I, breaking in, "just 
scurry around and see if \'ou can't discover 



some fowl or other, somewhere. I want a 
substantial meal." 

Senor the innkeeper looked dubious, but said 
lie would try ; and, at last, he succeeded. 

We had just finished our dinner, when a 
stir took place outside. Horses tramped, men 
talked and laughed; there was the jingle and 
clash of military accoutrements. Senor the 
innkeeper turned actually green with appre- 

" The knaves of soldiers, senor, they have 
come back. They will leave me nothing," he 
whispered in passing. " No one knows what 
mischief may be done while they are about." 

" We 'd better be on our guard. Will," said 1 
in a low voice. 

" Ten, twenty, twenty-five," counted Will, 
glancing through the open door. '• .AH of 'em 
well mounted, and all been a-takin' too much 
pulque — or something else. I wish we were 
five miles away." 

I wished so, too. I called the Spaniard, paid 
him our reckoning, and he showed us quietly 
out by a long paved passage-way to the corral, 
where we quickly flung the saddles on our 

" How are we to get out without going 
through the middle of them ? " I asked the 

" Senor, there is no other way. They are 
noisy and quarrelsome. The lieutenant had 
trouble with some Americans the other day, and 
as he had the worst of it, hates the whole nation 
in consequence." 

" That 's a bad lookout for us, then," said Will 
in English to me. 

Just then, and before we could mount, about 
a dozen soldiers came riding helter-skelter into 
the corral, shouting vociferously and abusively 
for Sefior Panca ; and all concealment was out 
of the ((uestion. They came to a dead, silent 
stop, and the lieutenant's black, beady eyes 
twinkled ominously. He flung a sharp ques- 
tion or two at the innkeeper as to who we 
were, and then addressed us in broken English, 
supposing us to be ignorant of his language. 
We were willing he should think so. 

" You aire — .Americain, meester?" he began, 
turning to me. 

" I am," said I. 

" Vere iss — your name ? " 

" Rafael Ransom, of New York," said I. 

'• And yours, meester ? " to my comrade. 

" William Grant," was the concise reply. 

The lieutenant seemed to meditate. Then 
the whole band, who had gathered about, broke 
in with threats and suggestions. 

" R-r-rascally Americanos ! " " Tumble 'em 
into the river ! " " Toss 'em over the cliff! " 
and so on. 

We stood quietly by our horses. To make 
any show of fear or resistance would be unsafe, 
to say the least. The men were all more or 
less tipsy, and six or eight of them hung about 
the entrance of the corral. Rangoon threw 
up his head, sniffed the air, and looked slowly 
around. By some keen intuitive instinct he 
knew — brave fellow 1 — that danger threatened. 
Tlie Heutenant looked keenly at him. 

" A vary fine horse, meester," said he, his 
black eyes twinkling. He took the bridle 
roughly from my hand, and tried to lead the 
horse along a few steps. 

Now, Rangoon had never owned allegiance 
to any human being but mvself. I had con- 
quered and trained him, and he loved me. 
He resented the familiarity of this stranger, 
threw his head loftily into the air, and refused 
to budge. He laid one quivering ear back for 
a word from me; one big bright eye turned 
sidewise to look at me. The lieutenant vented 
his vexation in a jerk at the reins, and a 
threatening and abusive word. He raised his 
foot for a kick. 

Rangoon saw and understood that gesture. 
In an instant he stood straight up, restless fore 
feet pawing the air, and ears laid furiously close 
to his head. The litde, undersized lieutenant 
was swung clean oft" his feet, and, losing his 
hold, landed in an ignominious heap three yards 
away. A murmur of astonishment ran through 
the soldiers. 

Rangoon came down on all fours with a crash, 
and stood still, furious — but awaiting my word. 
Oh ! that w-as a horse worth having. I shall 
never see his like again. 

Then a raging dispute forthwith commenced 
among the soldiers. Their lieutenant, being an- 
gry, was for venting his rage on us. His men 
wished for some sport first. They got to com- 



paring horses — they had taken away Will's 
gray — and disputing as to their relative speed. 
The lieutenant rode a fine animal, and he de- 
clared that the big rascal of a chestnut — mean- 
ing Rangoon — was inferior to his. 

His men disagreed. " A race — a race, .sefior 
lieutenant ! The road is smooth ; the distance 
to Cabanho is not great ; let us make trial of 
the ungainly American horse 1 " 

The lieutenant agreed, and the band, still 
keeping watch on us, hurried out to the road. 

There they fell into a new dispute. There 
were seven other horses besides Will's gray which 
they proposed to match against Rangoon. But 
who should ride Rangoon ? 

" I will not ride the beast," grumbled the 
lieutenant ; " let Carlos try." 

Carlos tried. A big, black-haired, powerful 
fellow was Carlos. Carlos got into the saddle ; 
Rangoon's heels flew up as if moved by spring- 
|)Ower, and Carlos shot forward into the sand. 
.\ shout went up. 

Three men made futile endeavors to mount. 
One got a severe kick for his pains; another's 
arm was nipped by Rangoon's teeth ; the third 
was unable to get anywhere near the saddle, for 
the wily horse changed his tactics, and whirled 
around as on a pivot, keeping his head to the 
luckless aspirant. 

I saw a chance of escaije bv this time. 

The lieutenant cast a dissatisfied glance at me. 
I heard him say in Spanish : 

" The tricky Americano must ride his own 
horse, it seems. But stay ! he shall not escape. 
Let the horse carry double. Carlos shall ride 
behind him 1 " 

This was accounted a happy thought, and was 
heartily applauded by his band of noisy troopers. 

" Meester Rainsome," said the lieutenant, with 
an ugly twinkle, " you will haf pleasir to ride 
your horse in a race. Carlos will to ride — a — 
wis you, lest you haf not to part company wis 
us. You see ? " 

" I see," said I, laughing. For when I once 
sat Rangoon's powerful back, I had the game 
in my own hands. 

But leave Will Grant, who sat composedly 
chewing a straw by the wall ? No, indeed ! 
This is how I managed. 

I mounted. Rangoon gave a restless snort, 
but stood like a statue, with listening ears, while 
Carlos got up behind me. Just a pressure of 
my hand on Rangoon's left shoulder, and up 
went his heels, while Carlos and I rolled quietly 


over his head. Or, rather, I rolled (juietly — 
expecting it, you see. But Carlos, whose cra- 
nium was severely shaken by the shock, got up 
in a rage, vowing and declaring that no earthlv 



power should induce him to mount tiic abomi- 
nable American brute again. 

" How ? " said the lieutenant to me. " \our 
horse will not carree your own zelt"? " 

•' It was that other fellow," said I, composedly, 
brushing off the dust, and remounting. 
" Rangoon can't abide strangers. 
Put my friend on behind me, 
and perhaps he '11 do better." 

" Not if I know it! " 
said Grant, with a 
sireat show of m- 


ear. The next instant the word was given, and 
with a crash of hoofs the nine horses were off. 
There was no question about it — there were 
fearful odds against Rangoon. Will Grant 
weighed certainly a hundred and fifty ; I tipped 


dignation. " I 've no call to break my head, 
as that other chap has done, to please a parcel 
of idiots ! " 

The lieutenant eyed us suspiciously, Init Will 
played his part well. The lieutenant's men 
clamored for the race. 

Finally, to guard against the possibility of our 
escape, two mounted men were sent on toward 
Cabanho to guard the end of our route, and the 
other contestants got ready. 

Grumbling to himself, as loath to make the 
experiment, Will climbed slowly up behind me, 
pretending great anxiety at Rangoon's every 
start and movement. Under cover of the 
and discussion he shot a sharp whi.sper over my 
shoulder : 

" Can he do it? " 

" I think so," I answered. Rangoon stood 
motionless as I tightened the rein. " Ready, 
boy, ready I " I muttered into his back-bent 

the beam at perhaps ten pounds less. For the 
first few minutes, six of the nine kept up pretty 
well. Then they scattered. I was holding in 
my brave horse ; the severest test was to come 
shortly, and I wanted to be ready. The lieu- 
tenant rode a fine roan ; he was the only 
opponent worth speaking of. 

The golden sunset was slanting across the 
blue Sierras ; but already the valley was cool 
and shady with coming night, .\cross the old 
stone bridge thundered the horses, the lieuten- 
ant's roan and Rangoon neck and neck now, 
the rest far in the rear. The Spaniard's eyes 
flashed suspiciously at me — he made a mena- 
cing gesture. No time to lose ; just ahead I 
saw the two troopers waiting near a sharj) bend 
of the road. 

With a rapid turn of the wrist I reined Ran- 
goon diagonally across the lieutenant's course ; 
the quick-witted animal understood in a flash. 


" Strike, sir, strike ! " 1 hissed into his ear. 

With one leap Rangoon plunged violently 
against the side of the lieutenant's roan. There 
was a struggle of hoofs, a cloud of dust, a vol- 
ley of abuse in Spanish from the discomfited 
lieutenant, as the roan lost his balance and was 
knocked completely over by the sudden and 
une.xpected attack. 

I flung loose the rein on my horse's neck 
then, and encouraged him by word and hand. 
Will Grant, behind me, prepared for an en- 
counter with the two troopers just ahead. But 
there was no need. The amazed and befogged 
soldiers really regarded the furious, flying horse 
as possessed of an evil .spirit, and made no effort 
to stop us as we rode. The evening air swept 
our faces ; trees, bushes, rocks fled by and van- 

ished in the dim light, like the phantoms of a 

Level neck, back-laid ear, mu.scles springy as 
steel — I felt the tireless power of his stride, 
heard the rapid, monotonous beating of Ran- 
goon's hoofs all along the lonely road. The 
way was clear ; my brave horse had again saved 
his master. 

" Better .slack a bit," said (irant after a while; 
" we 're out of all danger now." So we finished 
our journey leisurely. 

" Will," said I at last, " was that race what 
you were going to show me at Popocarina ? " 

" No, it war n't," he answered glumly. " But 
it 's too late now — we 've gone by it." 

.•\nd to this day I never have been able to 
find out what "it" was. 


By Gertrude Morton. 

' Geogr.\phy 's a nuisance, and arithmetic's a bore!" 

Said Tommy, with a frown upon his face. 
' I hate the sight of grammars, and my Latin makes me roar ; 

It 's always sure to get me in disgrace. 
When I 'm a man," he added, as he threw his school-books down, 
" / '// have a school that boys will think is fine I 
They need not know an adjective or adverb from a noun, 
Nor whether Cffisar bridged the Po or Rhine. 

■ I don't care if they think that George the Third was King of Spain 

When those old fogies lived so long ago. 
Or if they all should answer that the Volga is in Maine, 

What difference would it make, I 'd like to know ? 
But instead of useless things, I '11 teach 'em how to coast and skate : 

They all shall learn to row and .sail a boat, 
.•\nd how to fire a pistol, and to shoot a rifle straight, 

.And how to swim, and how to dive and float. 

We '11 play at tennis and at cricket all the livelong day ; 

And then there's polo, and — Oh, yes, foot-ball; 
And base-ball they shall every single one learn how to play. 

For that 's the most important thing of all. 
I tell you," finished Thomas, " I '11 have one of just that kind ; 

Then all the boys, you see, will want to go. 
They will not run away and .say my school 's an 'awful grind,' 

Or call the lessons dull and hard, I know." 



By Clarf.nxi'. 15. Moore. 

ARRY," snul Mr. 
Vance to his son 
one morning, " I 
have, as you know, 
large interests in 
Bombay. Certain 
matters require 
some one in whom I have ab- 
solute confidence to represent 
me there. I see no reason why 
you should not be the one. In 
all probability, you will some 
(lay have to take my place in 
business matters, and the sooner 
you make a beginning the better I shall be 

Harry eagerly accepted his father's pmposi- 
tion ; and a month was spent mainly in read- 
ing books on India. Though already (juite 
proficient, practice with a rifle came in for its 
share of time ; for, as Mr. Vance said, " You 
will surely be asked out for some blackbuck 
shooting, and I want you to do me credit in 
whatever you attempt in Inilia, whether it be 
business or sport." 

When it was nearly time for Harrj's de- 
parture, Mr. Vance called him into his study 
one evening, and gave his son ample directions 
to guide him as to the matters of business which 
called him to India. " And as to preparations, 
Harry," he concluded, " you need buy no cloth- 
ing here, except two thin suits of clothes to wear 
while on the Red Sea, everything else necessary 
can be had in Bombay. You may take my 
' e.xpress-rifie ' that I have often used in India ; 
as you know, it is double-barreled and comes 
up to the shoulder like a shot-gun." 
" To shoot tigers ? " asked Harry. 
" You will see no tigers," said his father. 
■" They are by no means so plentiful as people 
imagine, and when one is heard of, the slaying 
of it is considered the [)eculiar privilege of some 

raja, English Resident, or army officer of high 

" Engli-sh Resident ? " 

" You have heard of the ' whisper that moves 
the throne ' ? Well, at the courts of the maha- 
rajas, rajas, gaikwars, and raos, as they call va- 
rious native rulers, dwell members of the British 
government, who really control the government 
of their hosts." 

" How many ' lacs of rupees ' shall I need ? " 
.said Harry. 

" Not many," said his father, smiling. 

" How much is a lac ? " 

" One hundred thousand rupees ; the rupee 
being nominally worth about thirty-five cents." 

" Whew ! a lac is really quite a sum of money ! " 

" Yes," said Mr. Vance ; " and a crore is a 
hundred lacs." 

In due time Harry sailed for Liverpool, and 
after a few days on the continent, he took the 
steamer for Alexandria. On board was a Major 
Barton, Political Resident at the court of the 
Rao of Cutch, and he and Harry soon became 
fast friends. He was an old tiger-shooter, and 
told Harry of many thrilling escapes which he 
had had in the jungle. " You have to be quick," 
said the Major ; " for the tiger looks like a blaze 
of yellow light when he comes. In the north 
they shoot them from elephants, but in the 
Madras district hunters go into the jungle on 

" Well," said Harry, " I think I would begin 
on the elephant and work down, rather than 
begin on foot and work up." 

" You may well say so," said Major Barton. 
" I have hunted leopards on foot, and I don't 
care for any more of it. Upon one occasion 
I slightly wounded one, and hastily retreated up 
a high rock. The beast charged after me, but, 
missing me in the blind fury of its desperate 
leap, fell en cr the other side and was crushed to 



" That was close," said Harry. '• I fancy you 
were glad to get oft". I suppose you use rifles 
for big game out there ? " 

" Xo," answered Major Barton, •■ rilles arc 
rarely used to kill tigers. In nearly every 
case the weapon is a double-barreled shot-gun, 
without 'choke,'* carrying a heavy round l)all. 
Nearly all tigers are killed running, and at very 
close range, and the time to aim is very limited. 
When an old tiger-shooter speaks of his ' rille,' 
he always refers to a shot-gun." 

grown, is of inky blackness on the back, while 
the belly is as white as snow ; the contrast being 
very striking. The horns are black and spiral 
in shape, and in length average about eighteen 
inches, although they have been known to reach 
twenty-six inches. The animals are usually found 
in herds, and are difficult to approach on foot, 
as the bucks toss their heads into the air from 
time to time in a very graceful manner, and 
some one of them is almost sure to detect any 
attempt at stalking. Thev are at times hunted 

Tis.Mi»liil«»«>' -k" •'"■■&s=^ — '^^ 



" I am so eager to get at the black buck," on horseback, but the usual method in many sec- 
said Harry, '• that I can hardly wait. My father tions is to use a conveyance very much like the 
has given me letters to a friend at Moortizapoor, back of a horse, only shorter, and made of wood, 
in the Central Provinces, and I expect to shoot This is on wheel-s, is drawn by bullocks, and is 
some down there. Would )ou mind telling me called a jungle-cart. It is very close to the 
something about them, Major Barton ? " ground, and from both sides project flat pieces 

" Not at all," said the Major, lighting his of wood, upon which the feet rest. The inside 

pipe. " Vou will find the black buck is a very is hollow and holds ammunition and luncheon, 

graceful animal, weighing between thirty and It is believed that they take the (juecr little 

fifty pounds. The hide of the male, when full- wooden arrangement on wheels for a plow, and 

" A gradual lessening of the diameter of the barrel, beginning near the breech and continuing toward the 
muzzle. This tends to bunch the shot and to increase the distance which they will go. A 
bullet encountering this choke would probably burst the gun. 
Vol. XIX.-33. 



consequently are not much alarmed as it draws 
nearer them in ever-decreasing circles. The bul- 
locks move at the word of command, and are 
accompanied by a shikaree, or native hunter. 
The bucks never seem to fear the inhabitants, 
doubtless having learned they are without guns, 
and therefore not to be dreaded. 

" There ! " said the Major, " I have delivered 
quite a lecture on the subject, and if I say any 
more you will be asking me to — what is that 
slang phrase you have in the States ? " 

" Hire a hall ? " suggested Harry. 

"That 's it," said the Major, "hire a hall." 

" I would be only too glad," said Harry, "to 
hire a small hall, and hear you talk all night 
about tigers, leopards, and black buck." 

Upon arriving at Bombay, Harry delivered 
his letters of introduction, and took up his 
quarters at the Bombay Club, which has cool 
and comfortable rooms for members and for 
their guests. He found awaiting him a letter 
from Mr. Cotgrave, his father's friend at Moor- 
tizapoor, inviting him down at his earliest con- 
venience to " have a try " at the black buck ; 
and after two weeks, having arranged his 
father's business affairs, he accepted Mr. Cot- 
grave's kind invitation. 

After an all-night journey he arrived at 
Moortizapoor, and was grieved to find that his 
host was confined to his bed. Mr. Cotgrave had 
been thrown from his horse while " pig-stick- 
ing " the day before. " Pig-sticking" is a rather 
dangerous sport, and consists in chasing the 
■wild boar on horseback. 

Mr. Cotgrave, however, was not seriously 
injured ; and, seated in a large cane rechn- 
ing-chair (so common in India and so very 
comfortable), warmly welcomed his guest. The 
bungalow where he lived was very commo- 
dious ; although a bachelor, he employed 
twenty-two servants, including two sices, or 
grooms, and two shikarees or huntsmen. Wages, 
though ajiparently very low in India, are not 
low considering the number of servants required 
to attend to duties which would be done by 
one servant in America or England. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Harry 
started out in search of the buck. His jungle- 
cart was drawn by two bullocks, snowy-white, 
and trained to advance or to halt at the word 

of command, while a shikaree accompanied him 
on foot. Harry was very nervous; he had 
heard of " buck fever," the nervous panic that 
prevents a man from firing at his first deer, and 
he dreaded an attack of the malady. 

They had been out hardly an hour, when he 
espied, about two hundred yards away, what he 
knew to be a black buck. Unfortunately the 
animal saw the hunters at the same instant, and 
speedily disappeared. 

After another hour without seeing game, 
Harry was beginning to feel a little discouraged 
(for black buck are very abundant at Moortiza- 
poor), when he was startled by a sudden excla- 
mation from his guide. Looking where the 
guide pointed, Harry saw forty or fifty bucks 
and does feeding, about two hundred yards 
away ! 

Harry's heart beat fast. Guided by the shi- 
karee, who kept the cart between himself and 
the game, the hunters slowly circled nearer and 
nearer. The bucks continually tossed their 
spiral horns and looked at them, but apparendy 
suspected no trouble. When at a distance of 
about eighty yards, the shikaree halted the bul- 
locks, and Harry saw that the rime had come. 

Slowly rising until he stood upright, with his 
feet supported by the boards on the sides of the 
jungle-cart, Harry leveled his express and, tak- 
ing deliberate aim at the shoulder of a fine buck, 
pulled the trigger. The herd leaped high into 
the air and then rushed helter-skelter away. 
With a gnawing feeling at the heart he fired 
again, and saw the ball raise the dust a yard or 
two short of them as they ran. He threw down 
his rifle, bitterly disappointed. Turning to the 
shikaree, determined to quit the scene of his dis- 
appointment and disgrace, Harry pointed toward 
home, and uttered the single word, " Bungalow ! " 
The huntsman seemed rather surprised, and. 
taking him by the arm, endeavored to lead him 
toward the former locarion of the herd ; but 
poor Harry again sadly turned toward home. 
The shikaree seemed more puzzled than ever. 

At length, seeing the native so persistent, 
Harry accompanied the shikaree to the place 
he indicated, and there, quite dead, lay a fine fat 
buck. Harry's shot was clever enough to de- 
light the young hunter, and taking a rupee from 
his pocket, he handed it to the sliikarce. In- 


stantly his companion fell u])on his knees, and 
began kissing the dust Ironi Harry's feet. The 
young American, unaccustomed to such pro- 
ceedings, speedily concluded that he had the 
worth of his rupee, and motioned to the native 
to rise. Tying the buck to the wagon, they 
returned home, where Harry, as proud as a king, 
was warmly congratulated by his host. 

That evening Mr. Cotgrave told him a num- 
ber of amusing stories about the inhabitants. 
Upon one occa,sion he had been out shooting 
snipe, and had fired in the direction of some 

This time no coin was dropped into the 
upturned palm, but, by Mr. Cotgrave's orders, 
two shikarees lifted the " remains " and carried 
them to the large tent belonging to the party, 
no great distance away. Once there, they con- 
structed a bier consisting of boards supported 
by kegs. Upon this they laid the body, and 
around it arranged lighted candles, which they 
slyly moved nearer and nearer, until, the heat 
liecoming unendurable, the " dead man " with 
a yell sprang to his feet, rushed through the 
entrance of the tent, and was seen no more. 




natives who were at work in a field two or three 
gunshots away. Immediately there arose loud 
cries, " He is dead ! He is dead ! " Approach- 
ing them, Mr. Cotgrave and his friends found 
a man lying motionless upon his back with arms 
extended and hands relaxed. When they put 
a ru])ee into one of the upturned palms, the 
man's fingers closed upon it, and a moment or 
two later the prostrate man rose to his feet. 
The party of Europeans moved away, but were 
presently recalled by the cry, " He is dead 
again I " Winking to his companions, .Mr. Cot- 
grave returned, and found the same man lying 
on his back as before. 

Harry laughed heartily at this incident, as 
did Mr. Cotgrave, who spoke of it as one of 
the most ludicrous events of his Indian ex- 

The next morning Harry went out again, and 
when about two miles from the bungalow suc- 
ceeded in mis.sing a fine buck whicli was feed- 
ing apparently alone. 

Chagrined but not discouraged, he kept on, 
and toward afternoon saw another solitary buck 
standing on the side of a hill. The hillside 
was entirely covered with some cultivated |)lant 
about two feet high. The animal, more timid 
from being alone, started to run ; when " bang ! " 


went Harry's rille, and '-ping!" went the ball 
into the mass of vegetation. With loud shouts 
and screams, fully fifty natives, who had been 
s(iuatting upon the ground using their little 
short-handled hoes, rose to their feet ! For- 
tunately no one was hurt, and, this time, neither 
did any one " play possum." 

Harrx- and his companion speedily followed 
ill the direction taken by the buck, and as 
they mounted a small eminence were fortunate 
enough again to see it standing. The animal 
bounded away ; but, overtaken by Harry's bul- 
let, it staggered, plunged forward and fell head- 
long. Then, recovering itself, it leaped to its 
feet and continued on its course. A second 
time Harry fired, and the buck dropped to the 

Harry was a proud boy indeed that night at 
dinner, when Mr. Cotgrave warmly congratu- 
lated him upon his marksmanship. 

The following morning Harry again sallied 
fortli ; and, when only four or five miles from 
the bungalow, came to a nuUali (dry water- 
course), upon one side of which, far away to 
the right, he saw feeding the largest herd of 
black bucks and does which he had yet come 
upon, 'ilie shikaree motioned to him to de- 
scend from the jungle-cart and to creep down 
the nullah toward the feeding herd. 

Rifle in hand, he cautiously approached the 
animals. While yet considerably out of rifle- 
shot, the herd, alarmed by something behind 
them, ran toward the nullah in a long line. One 
at a time, leaping high in air, the bucks and does 
began crossing to the other side, where, continu- 
ing their rapid course, they were speedily lost 
to view. AVaiting until a large buck was in mid- 
air, Harry raised his rifle and, aiining ahead of 
tlie animal, fired. The efifect was instantaneous. 
While yet high above the ground, the legs of 
the buck fell limp and at full length, the head 
dropped, and for an instant the body hung 
quite dead in the air! Then it fell heavily to 
the earth. The rest of the herd still continued 

• J, unci 

their flying leaps. Taking deliberate aim, Harry 
fired the second barrel. This time his target 
landed safely on the other side, disappearing 
with the rest ; and by the time the rifle was 
reloaded, the herd had completed the passage 
of the nullah. At dinner that evening, Mr. Cot- 
grave was much interested in hearing Harry's 
account of his good fortune, and it really seemed 
as if the genial Englishman took more pleasure 
in the success of his young guest than if he 
himself had bagged the game. 

" What size horns did you get to-day ? " he 

'■ Nineteen inches," answered Harry. " How 
long do they grow ? " 

" Not much over twenty-two, around here ; 
but up at Jeypore, in Rajpootana, I have heard 
of horns twenty-six inches in length. I got a 
day's shooting there once, in the preserves of 
the raja ; and, being requested not to kill over 
three bucks in a day, I passed by one after 
another, waiting to encounter horns of extraor- 
dinary size. After about two o'clock I never 
got even a glimpse of one. The black bucks 
know how to use their horns to advantage. 
In some parts of India antelopes are hunted 
with cheetahs, which resemble leopards, and 
are said to be the connecting link between dog 
and cat. Now, when a cheetah gets hold of a 
black buck by mistake, he is very likely to let 
him go again after receivhig a couple of shar]) 
prods from his horns." 

After Harry had passed ten days with his 
kind host, with varied success (on the last day 
but one killing three bucks before tiffin*), he 
felt that he ought no longer to postpone his 
return. Before his departure he warmly thanked 
Mr. Cotgrave for his kindness. 

A week in Bombay was sufticient for Harry 
to complete his father's business, and, after 
taking a trip through India (of course not for- 
getting a vi.sit to Major Barton), he sailed for 
home, where he arrived safely, and was warmly 
welcomed by his father. 

MV TROL! HA I )()rR. 

I!\ t'liAUi.Es H. C'kandai.i,. 

High on the maple swinging. 
To usher in with singing 
The wedding of the Dawn 
With the Dew upon the hiwn, 
Vou cheery little poet ! 
Although you do not know it. 
And see nobody near you, 
I hear you — I hear you ! 

Hark, from the orchard hidden, 
A serenade unbidden ! 
And by this dainty clue, 
Robin, I know it 's you. 
Xo, you cannot deceive me, 
Pretending that you leave me : 
I found you out, you dear, you — 
I hear you — I hear you! 

Now on the meadow- floor, 
The scarlet troubadour 
Such melody is letting 
The sun forgets its setting ! 
You music-beating heart! 
Doing your little part, 
You shall be seen and heard. 
Though you are but a bird ; 
So never, never, fear you, 
I hear you — I hear you. 

. /'.frtft- 




r)V Caroline Evans. 

The cat on his fiddle thrummed iiey-diddle- The Pussy who fell down that horrible well 

In measure delightfully gay, 
.-\nd three little kittens waved wildly tiieir 

-Arrived, rather damp, toward the end, 
With Pussy Cat Mew, dressed in petticoat 
And Puss from the corner, her friend. 

.And murmured: " How well he does play!" Only one sent regrets — "Sadly grieved to 
While Puss stamped his boots, thump, thump, have been 

on the floor, 
As a delicate hint that thev 'd like some more. 

.\t London detained by a and the 


By Lieut. R. H. Fletcher. 

[Bc^uti in the Jnytnary jniinber.\ 

Chapter X. 

When Charlie, somewhat subdued by his 
experience with the first act of the play, asked 
his father what he thought of the second act, 
the Captain replied, " Well, I think it ought to 
be short." 

" What, shorter than the first ? " cried Charlie. 

" Yes," said the Captain. " Remember, you 
and Leslie are giving an entertainment for your 
friends. You must think of their pleasure, and 
not seize the chance to show yourselves oft" as 
fine writers or actors. Three short acts of ten 
minutes each are quite enough. You will find 
that when you come to the performance it will 
take nearly an hour. And now for the second 
act. Give me the book, and let me see what 
will be best." 

Charlie had obtained a copy of the story from 
which he had taken his ideas for the plot, and 
had brought it home to examine at his leisure. 
For a few minutes his father read in silence, and 
then said, "Ah, yes. Here, now; this will do. 
Let the scene be an out-of-doors one, by way 
of variety." 

" But how can you make it out-of-doors, 
Pa?" asked Leslie. 

" Well," said her father, " I will leave that to 
you. Only, remember that I am not going to 
have any carpenters in the house putting up 
frames, and hammering and upsetting things 
generally. Half the fun in parlor theatricals 
is in proving your ingenuity by managing with 
what things you have at hand. For instance, 
you can get some cheap green stuff, calico or 
something, to lay on the floor." 

" Not calico, dear," said Mrs. Morton; " they 
don't make green calico. You might get paper 

" Well, whatever you call it," said the Cap- 
tain. " Then you can rig up a screen out of 

the same material to hide the walls of the room, 
and put some pots of flowers around, and a gar- 
den seat or two. You want to give simply the 
idea, that is all." 

" I understand," said Charlie. " It 's just as 
they do in a photograph gallery." 

" Exactly," said his father ; " except that the 
photographer does not care for color, and you 
do. Now, when the curtain goes up, let Mr. 
Harper — that is. General Washington — come 
on the stage ready for departure. He walks up 
and down with the youngest daughter of Mr. 
Smith (Frances her name is), talking to her in a 
kindly way, which he interrupts to say, ' Here 
comes your father.' Mr. Smith, accompanied 
by his son still disguised in his red wig, comes 
forward. Mr. Harper then suddenly turns to 
young Smith and says, ' If any fear of me 
induces Captain Smith to maintain his disguise, 
I beg that he will lay it aside.' ' My son, my 
son ! ' cries the elder Mr. Smith, ' you are dis- 
covered ! ' ' Great heavens ! sir,' exclaims Fran- 
ces, turning to Mr. Harper, with clasped hands, 
' you will not betray him ? ' ' Fear nothing,' 
says Mr. Harper; 'I cannot betray him, and 
for your sake I would not if I could.' ' Well, 
I care not,' says the young Captain ; ' I am 
weary of this masquerading.' He takes off his 
wig and beard and throws them aside. Mr. 
Harper smiles and says, ' You look so much 
better in your own proper person, sir, I ad- 
vise you to keep to it.' Now the elder sister, 
Sarah, comes on and says hurriedly, ' Father, 
Harvey Birch is here with your — ' then catch- 
ing sight of her brother without his disguise, she 
exclaims, ' Why, Henry, what does this mean ? 
Have you forgotten that there is a stranger 
among us ? ' And she looks at Mr. Harper. 
' My dear sister,' says the young man, ' since 
the stranger has seen through my disguise, 
where is the use of keeping to it ? It was a 
great nuisance, and I am well rid of it.' ' .\nd 


Mr. Harjjcr has promised not to betray him, 
Sister,' says Frances, eagerly. ' Rest assured,' 
says Mr. Harper, pleasantly ; ' 1 have enjoyed 
your hospitality, and I would not willingly cause 
you trouble. Now, sir,' — this with a bow to old 
Mr. Smith, — ' if I may trouble you to order my 
horse, I will take my leave.' Sarah calls Caasar 
to bring the gentleman's horse. Mr. Harper then 
turns to Frances, and says, ' Heaven bless you, 
my dear young lady ! A girl who is so good 
a daughter, so kind to strangers, and loves 
her country as you do, deserves every blessing. 
If ever you should need advice or assistance 
in these troublous times, send this ring to Mr. 
Harper, and if it lies in his power he will 
gladly assist you.' He takes off a ring and 
hands it to her. Csesar comes on to say that the 
horse is ready, the stranger bows to them all, 
and departs. Then the two young ladies talk 
about him a little, saying, ' What a gentleman 
he seems, what a noble countenance he has, and 
what a kind manner ! ' They are interrupted by 
Caesar, who rushes on in great terror, exclaim- 
ing that a body of American soldiers is coming 
up the valley. Immediately every one is greatly 
e.\cited. Frances cries out for her brother to 
fly, Sarah picks up his false wig and beard and 
helps him to put them on. A drum is heard 
back of the scenes, and then a sound of firing." 

" With real guns, Pa ? " said Leslie. 

" Not exactly, my dear," said her father, smil- 
ing. "The firing can be imitated by opening 
and shutting a big book rapidly. The Captain 
and Mr. Smith rush off, followed by Caesar. 
There is more firing. The young ladies cling 
to each other in great distress. Then the noise 
ceases, and the Captain is brought in a prisoner 
between two Continental soldiers, accompanied 
by an ofiicer; his father and Caesar follow. ' Sir,' 
says the American officer to Captain Smith, 
"if it be, as you say, that you are a British 
officer, I pity you ; for we find you inside our 
lines in disguise, and while it may be true that 
you come here only to visit your father, your 
disguise would indicate that you are a spy, and 
for that Major Andre was hung.' Then old 
Mr. Smith on one side, and Sarah on the other, 
throw themselves on their knees before the offi- 
cer, crying out, ' Oh, spare him, sir ! Spare him ! ' 
Frances puts her handkerchief to her eyes, while 


CiEsar blubbers in the l)ackgioun(i, as tlie cur- 
tain falls." 

"And now for the third and last act," con- 
tinued the Captain. " That must be even 
quicker than the others. Let the curtain rise on 
the parlor scene. Frances is sitting at a tabic 
with a book before her, but every once in a while 
she puts her handkerchief to her eyes. 'Alas!' 
she says, ' what dreadful trouble has befallen us ! 
My poor brother a prisoner, and soon to be shot 
as a spy ! How can we prove that it was only 
his affection for us that made him put on that 
odious disguise ? ' At this moment her father 
and sister enter, both looking very pale and 
with eyes red from weeping. Frances arises 
and embraces her father, while Sarah says, 
'That dreadful American Major has just told me 
that they are expecting a brigade of soldiers 
here, and that when they come our poor Henrv 
will be tried by court martial. Oh, what shall 
we do to save him ! ' Now have military music 
on the piano, very faint at first, and growing 
louder. The Continental Major enters and 
says that the brigade is coming, and that the 
court will sit the next morning, and they must 
be ready to come before it as witnesses. 'Sir,' 
says Sarah, turning to him, 'is there no one who 
can save my poor brother ? ' ' No one, if he is 
found guilty,' replies the Major; 'that is, no one, 
of course, except our Commander-in-chief, Gen- 
eral Washington ; and he is not likely to inter- 
fere.' ' Oh,' says Frances, ' if that good, kind Mr. 
Harper were but here to advise us! ' ' Mr. Har- 
per!' says the Major, looking at her curiously. 
'What do you know of Mr. Harper?' 'The 
gentleman spent with us the night on which my 
unfortunate son arrived,' says Mr. Smith ; ' and 
he thanked us for our hospitality, and offered, if 
the occasion arose, to be of service.' ' Did he 
so?' says the Major. 'Indeed, sir, he did,' says 
Frances, 'and gave me this ring as a token.' 
' Why, then,' says the Major, 'if you want my 
advice, I 'd lose no time in sending to him.' 
'But I know not where to find him,' says Frar,- 
ces. 'Well,' says the Major, 'perhaps I may 
know, and if you choose to trust me with your 
message I will see that it reaches him.' 'That 
will I, sir, gladly,' says Frances; 'and we thank 
you from the bottom of our hearts for your kind- 
ness. Father, I will go now and write the mes- 



sage.' Then they lioth go out. Meantime the 
martial music and tramping outside continue ; 
and Cffisar rushes in and declares that the whole 
American army is coming down the valley, and 
runs out again. Then Frances comes back and 
says that the note has been despatched. ' Pray 
heaven,' she exclaims, 'it may be of some use!' 
' How can it be,' says Sarah, mournfully, 'when 
that Continental Major has said that no one but 
(General Washington himself could be of use?' 
Now there is a knock at the door. Caesar, 
coming in, announces, ' Mr. Harj)er ! ' ' Mr. 
Harper!' they all exclaim, as that gentleman 
makes his appearance in his old military cloak. 
' General Washington, at your service,' he says, 
throwing back the cloak and displaying his uni- 
form. Every one, of course, is astonished. But 
Frances, rushing forward, kneels before him, and 
taking his hand in both of hers and pressing it 
to her lips, cries out, 'We are saved! We are 
saved!' 'Rise, my dear young lady,' says the 
General. ' Not till you have granted my re- 
quest,' she says. 'Oh, noble sir, spare my 
brother's hfel' 'I will,' says the General, 'be- 
cause I know him tc^be innocent. Major,' he 
continues, ' bring in the prisoner.' Then Cap- 
tain Smith is brought in by two soldiers, as be- 
fore. 'Young man,' says General Washington, 
severely, 'you have had a narrow escape from a 
disgraceful death. Let it be hereafter a warning 
to you not to sail under false colors. Major, 
you may accept this officer's parole as simply a 
prisoner-of-war.' The Major bows. Old Mr. 
Smith puts his arm around his son on one side, 
his sister Sarah does the same on the other. 
Frances stands ne,\t to General Washington, 
holding his hand and looking gratefully up into 
his face. Caesar, as usual, grins in the back- 
ground, and down comes the curtain." 

" Hurray ! " cried Leslie. " Pa, you 're just 
splendid !" And sitting on his knee, she raised 
his big mustache with both hands and kissed 

" I think I '11 be 'General Washington,'" said 
Charlie thoughtfully. 

" It will be a difficult part," said his father ; 
" but still I think it might fit you. The hardest 
part, perhaps, is ' Frances'; but it seems to suit 
our little friend Mildred. As for the rest of 
the characters and the conversation, you must 


arrange all that yourselves. Furthermore, you 
must make up your own costumes, remem- 
ber. Everything about the play must be home- 
made; those are the terms on which you are 
allowed to have it." 

"Certainly," said Charlie; "we understand 
that. I 'm ever so much obliged to you. Pa. 
And, Les," he continued, "we must go over to 
Mildred's to-morrow and look at the costumes 
in those old pictures that are hanging in the 
parlor, so that we '11 know how to make the 
things. I tell you, Mildred will look fine in one 
of those old-fashioned dresses, sitting at the 
spinning-wheel ! I do hope her mother will let 
her act." 

Ch.ipter XI. 

"Mildred is going to act!" cried Leslie, 
rushing into the dining-room one Saturday 
afternoon, about a week after the events narrated 
in the last chapter. It was now the middle of 
December, and the party was to take place the 
following Friday. Charlie and his friend Will 
Baily were in the dining-room, making a screen 
out of the kitchen clothes-horse. Charlie, who 
was hammering, was startled by Leslie's sudden 
entrance, and hammered his finger ; but the 
news she brought salved the bruise and saved 
her from an angry reception. 

" Is she ? " he cried, blowing his hurt finger. 
" That 's fine ! I 'm awfully glad to hear that. 
Now we 're all right." 

" Yes," said Leslie, nodding her head and 
speaking very fast. " I was over there just now, 
and Mildred said that when you read the play 
aloud the other day, her mother liked it very 
well. And then while they were talking, Blanche 
Howes came in. She was real nice about 
this; she said that if Mildred wanted to act 
she would help get her ready, so that Mrs. Fair- 
leigh would n't have to bother. And Dreddy 
says that Blanche is a clever girl, and that if 
she would help her everything would be all 
right. And at last her mother said she might 
act. I thought you 'd be glad to know it, so 
I came right over to tell you." 

" Well, that 's a piece of good news, Les," 
Charlie replied. " I 've been really anxious 
about that part. I was afraid Mrs. Fairleigh 
would n't let Mildred play, and I don't know 



an\body else who could have taken it. You sional.s ; ami that it 's best not to lead ])eoplc to 

just ought to see her, Will," added Charlie expect too much, 'cause then they won't be 

enthusiastically, turning to his friend. "She is disappointed. The folding-doors will do well 

just the girl tor that character — jjretty and enough for a curtain, and, besides, when they 're 

ladylike." closed the audience won't hear the noise we 

The clothes-horse, which was a high one, was make in getting ready, as they would if we 



first covered with red cotton, Charlie standing 
on a chair and tacking it on while Will after- 
ward ruled lines on it with a piece of chalk, 
the whole being intended to represent a red 
brick wall for the garden scene. Creepers and 
vines were to be stitched on to the cotton to 
add to the illusion. 

" There ! " said Charlie, at last, as he stepped 
back with his head on one side to look at their 
work. " I think that 's going to be pretty good, 

■• I wish we could have a regular stage and 
footlights, and curtain, and everything," said 

"So do I," said Charlie; "but we can't. 
^'ou know they are going to use the room 
for dancing as soon as the play is over, and if 
there was a stage they could n't. Besides, pa 
says that if w-e put up a stage, people would e.\- 
pect to see real scenery; and if we had real 
scenery they 'd expect us to act like profes- 

had only a curtain ; and there won't be any 
smarties peeping in to see what we 're doing." 

"To-day, when I was over at Mildred's 
house," LesUe remarked, '• Blanche Howes 
said that in a piece she saw once where there 
was a storm, you could hear the wind whistle 
and the shutters slam." 

" We might do something like that," said 

" .\nd Belle Foster," said Leslie, encouraged 
by this, " said that we could imitate the rain 
by turning on the water in the bath-tub." 

" Of course," said Will, " now that we 'vc got 
everything fixed, everybody wants to tell us how 
to do it ! " 

" She did n't say how we were to get the 
bath-tub down into the parlor, did she ? " asked 

" No," said Leslie, laughing. " I guess slie 
did n't think about that." 

" We might get pa to write an official request 


to the Weatlier IJureuu to have a real thunder- 
storm that night," continued Charlie. 

" But we don't want it to rain really, Charlie," 
protested Leslie; "it would spoil the party." 

'* You goosey," said her brother, " I was 
only in fun. The Weather Bureau can't make 
it rain." 

" Well," said Leslie, " they can tell when it 's 
going to rain." 

" Yes," said Charlie, " they can do that." 

" How do they do it ? " asked Will. 

" Well," said Charlie, " they have men sta- 
tioned all over, everywhere. Don't you re- 
member, Les, that Signal-sergeant who was at 
Fort Jones, when we were there — that big 
man who had orange-colored chevrons, and 
two crossed flags on his cap ? Well, he was 
one. Then they have a station away up in the 
Rocky Mountains, on Pike's Peak, where they 
are snowed-in nine months in the year, and the 
wind blows so hard that they have to tie the 
house down with ropes, or it would blow away. 
And they have them down in Arizona, and u]j 
in Washington Territory, and everywhere. And 
every day they telegraph to the Weather Bureau 
how the wind is blowing, and how hot or cold 
it is, and whether there 's a storm coming, and 
where it is coming from, and all that. And the 
men of the Weather Bureau read them all, and 
so know all about it." 

" But I don't see how they can tell whether 
it is going to rain," said Will. 

" Why, this way," said Charlie : " Suppose 
the Sergeant up at Fort Buford, on the Upper 
Missouri, telegraphs that a storm has just passed 
over his place, from north to south ; and the 
ne.xt station below him, say at Bismarck, tele- 
graphs that they are having a storm at their 
place and that it came from the north ; and the 
next station south of that, at — at — well, at Red 
Cloud Agency, says that it looks as if they were 
going to have a storm from the north, then the 
head of the Weather Bureau knows that a storm 
that began somewhere up at Buford is traveling 
down the Missouri River Valley, does n't he ? 
And he knows how fast it is traveling, because 
he knows how long it took for it to get from 
one station to another. So then he can tele- 
graph to the towns further down, at Omaha 
and St. Louis, where maybe there is n't any 

sign of a storm, that it 's likely to rain there 
in twenty-four hours. Don't you see ? " 

" How did you know all that ? " said Will, 

" The Signal-sergeant at Fort Jones explained 
it to me," said Charlie. " There 's a lot more 
he told me that I 've forgotten." 

" Do you believe it ? " said Leslie. 

" Why, of course I do," said Charlie. 

" Well, but how can a storm travel? " asked 

" It does n't travel as people do," answered 
Charlie ; " that is, it does n't get on a railroad- 
train with trunks and a lunch-basket." At which 
idea both Will and Leslie laughed. " But I 've 
seen lots of times, out on the plains, a rain- 
storm go traveling along, away off, while the 
sun was shining everywhere else." 

" Yes," said Leslie, " so have L But I hope 
we won't have a real storm the night of the 

Chapter XIL 

And so Mildred had her wish. She was go- 
ing to act in private theatricals. She was going 
to be dressed hke her favorite in the picture. 
Mistress Barbara Fairleigh, and there were to 
be British soldiers like those who had rapped 
on Barbara's door that night, a hundred years 
ago, and demanded to know whether they 
were " king's men or rebels." And " General 
Washington" was to talk to her. It all seemed 
like a dream. Charhe had given her a copy of 
the play so that she might learn her part, and 
she studied it every spare moment that she had, 
and asked her mother to hear her say it so 
many times that her mother soon knew it as 
well as Mildred did. 

Fortunately the tidy that she had been mak- 
ing for her mother had, with Eliza's help, been 
repaired and was now finished, and lay in her 
bureau drawer, wrapped in tissue-paper, wait- 
ing for Christmas morning. Then, too, in the 
two weeks that had elapsed before her mother 
had given her permission to take part in the 
theatricals, she had devoted her time to mak- 
ing a handkerchief-case for her father. This 
was of blue silk lined with white quilted satin, 
and inside of it was violet sachet-powder, and 
around the edge was a gilt cord. This was now 



comi)lcte, and lay beside the tidy. Her presents 
for Amanda and Eliza were to be bought with 
her own pocket-money that she had been saving 
for a long time past. She had almost decided 
that .Vmanda was to have a new head-kerchief, 
and Kliza a purse. Her mother, however, had 


promised to go shopping with her to deter- 
mine finally these purchases. To be sure, there 
was some other Christmas work in the way of 
helping her mother to get together bundles of 
flannels and cast-off clothing, and toys, for the 
orphans at the Home, and for the poor people 
who always expected help of some sort from 
the Fairleighs ; but that could be done after 
the party. 

Years ago, when Mildred's father and grand- 
father had plenty of money, Amanda said, 
there were a great many poor persons, prin- 
cipally colored folk, who made a regular cus- 
tom of gathering in the kitchen to receive gifts 
on Christmas morning. At such times old Mrs. 
Fairleigh, Mildred's grandmother, would dis- 
tribute dresses and coats and underwear and 
shoes and groceries. 

" 'Deed, honey," said Amanda, " you' gran'- 
pa he used to spen' hun'erds o' dolla's on de 
pore folks at Chris'mas-time. It was ev'ybody 

come, an' welcome. All dey got to do was to 
holler, ' Chris'mas gift, Mars' Tom ! ' an' dey 
got some'in'. But dem days is past. You' pa 
lost a heap o' money at de time o' de wa', an' 
bein' sick all de time, it 's mighty hard scratchin' 
to get enough togedder to keep de Fairleighs, 
let alone pervidin' for all dem pore folks. But 
you' ma she 's boun' to keep up de traditions 
o' de fambly w'at come to 'em wid de jenny- 
lugical tree, an' so long 's she 's got victuals 
an' clo'es she 's gwine to share 'em wid de 

So, these days before Christmas, Mildred's 
spare hours were pretty well occupied. In fact, 
she was glad that her mother had not given her 
permission to take part in Charlie's theatricals 
until after her preparations for Christmas were 
completed and her school vacation had begun. 
It was so pleasant to feel that she was not 
neglecting any of her duties for this new amuse- 
ment. She wondered if her mother had foreseen 
this. When she suggested it to Amanda, the 
old woman prompdy replied, " Co'se she did, 
honey, co'se she did. Y'ou' ma she do a heap 
o' t'inkin' fer yo' w'at yo' don' know nuffin 

Amanda took a great deal of interest in Mil- 
dred's " play-actin'," as she called it. " I mind de 
time," she said, " w'en dey had jest dem very 
same identical play-actin' in dis yere house ; 
on'y it war de grown folks w'at did it, not de 
chillun. I knowed you' gran'ma's maid, Su- 
sanna, in dem days o' junketin', jest a'ter you' 
gran'ma was married ; an' I used to come over 
yere an' help Susanna dress her ha'r, an' lay out 
de finery an' all dat. An' I don' want to see no 
likelier woman dan you' gran'ma was, a-com- 
in' down de steps wid her long gown a-trailin' 
out behind, an' all de gen'lem' a-bowin' an' 
a-bendin' like dey was jest ready to git right down 
on de flo' fer her to walk on. An' de way dey 
talk ! I tell yo', honey, de men nowadays dey 
don' know how to talk. I 've stood at de head 
o' de sta'rs many a time a'ter de mistis go 
down, a-list'nin' to w'at dey say. ' Good eben- 
in', Mr. Lee,' says she ; ' I hope yo' well.' 
' Madam,' says he, ' to hear you' voice is a cure 
fo' all illness.' ' How is de wedder out dis 
ebenin', Mr. Pinckney ? ' says she. ' Is de moon 
shinin' ?' ' Who has eyes fer de moon,' says he. 




' w'cn Mistis I''airleigli apjiears!' Da's ik- way 
iley talk. None o' you' common '1 's lol'ablc 
well, thank ye, ma'am, an' how 's all you folks ? ' 
or ' Yes, 'm, I spec de moon 's a-shinin'.' Don't 
yo' fergit dat, honey, in you' play. And w'en it 
comes to dancin', I reckon you '11 dance de 
minyet, 'cause da's w'at dey all dance in dem 
days. It 's like dis : De gen'lem' dey steps 
out wid deir heads high in de a'r, an' p'int deir 
toes out, an' hold out deir right han's, wid de 
left tucked in deir waist-es. An' de ladies dey 
raise deir skirt a little wid de left han', an' p'int 
deir toes out, an' give deir right han' to de 
gen'lem'. An' den de gen'lem' dey steps high 
dis-a way, an' de ladies dey step high dat-a 
way, jest like de turkeys w'en dey ftill o' pride. 
An' den dey sep'rate, an' de gen'lem' dey put 
deir han' on deir heart an' bow dat low you 
could put a tea-tray on deir back, it 's so flat ; 
an' de ladies dey curtsy down to de groun', 
an' rise ag'in, slow an' easy, like a yeast-powder 
biscuit in a hot oven. An' de way dey manage 
deir trails — um ! um ! I 'clar' to goodness, it 's 
won'erftil. I 've seen you' gran'ma in black 
velvet wid t'ree yards in her trail, an' real lace 
dat wide " — and Amanda held her hands a foot 
apart — " all roun' de hem. An' sometimes w'en 
she dancin' dat minyet she wind herself up in 
dat trail so dat she look like de statue in de 
parlo', on de black pe'stal. An' den she unwind 
herself, jest as slow an' easy, an' dat trail 'u'd go 
sweepin' roun', an' de gen'lem' dey so spry dey 
jest nat'rally step roun' it an' over it so dat de 
lace ain't so much as frayed out at de edge. I 'd 
like to see de gen'lem' do dat now- 
adays ! Dey jest walk all over de 
ladies' trails, 'deed dey do ' 
Although these rccollec 
tionsof Amanda's 
were not of great 
practical value to 
Mildred, because 
she was not to 
come down the 

stejjs in ball costume, nor dance the minuet, yet 
she liked very much to hear them. In view of her 
coming ajjpearance as one of those elegant ladies 
of the last century, Amanda's stories seemed to 
have a more personal interest. And that night 
Mildred dreamed that she was the subject of 
the portrait in the parlor, young Mistress Bar- 
bara Fairleigh, dancing a minuet with General 
Washington, and that she had on a dress with 
a train that reached all the way across the 
ball-room and out of the door and across the 
hall and disappeared up the steps. And in 
dancing she wound herself up in this endless 
train, and it kept piling up higher about her, 
until she could not see over it, anil they had to 
bring a step-ladder to get her out. 

At last the day before the party arrived. In 
the morning the spinning-wheel and the spin- 
dle-legged table and chairs had been called for 
l)y an expressman, and had been dusted off and 
brought down-stairs, and carried away to Les- 
lie's house. In the afternoon all those who 
were to take part in the play were to meet there 
for a full-dress rehearsal. Mildred had begged 
her mother to go with her, for she was beginning 
to fear that she had made a mistake in thinking 
siie could act, and almost wished that she had 
said no, when Charlie asked her. 

However, the rehearsal was very different from 
what she had expected. There was a great deal 
of talking and confusion. Charlie had rushed 
around with the manuscriiJt in his hands, explain- 
ing and correcting, and nobody seemed to do the 
right thing at the right moment. Ap- 
parently no one was prepared, 
and ev cry thing went wrong ; 
'/ so th It Mildred came away 

I feeling sadly dis- 

I ^,* appointed, and 

^^w^\i convinced that 
''^ "'"'^^ the perform- 

ance was to be 
a dismal failure. 

( To it- continued. ) 



Bv Nora Perry. 

Oh, whom do you think I saw to-day, 
Oh, whom do you think I met, 

As I came over the woodland way 
In all the April wet ? 

The wind was whistling loud and high 
A roistering wild March air. 

While April clouds went weeping by. 
As if in sheer despair. 

And all the trees flung out their arms 
With shuddering sighs, and yet. 

In spite — in spite of these alarms. 
Oh, whom do you think I met ? 

A little child, a little maid. 
Whose face was like a flower. 

Whose laughing eyes shone unafraid 
Through wind and cloud and shower. 

She looked at me, she laughed at me ; 
Then turned and laughing fled. 

I looked at her, and laughed to see 
How fast her footsteps sped. 

And then I called, " Come back! come back! 

Come tell me what 's your name. 
And what you 've strewn along your track, 

And whence, my dear, you came." 

At this, she only laughed the more. 

And shook her flowery dress. 
And said or sung, as on she bore, 

" My name, my name ? now guess ! " 

And as .she thus did sing or say. 

She flung into my face 
The sweet arbutus, spray by spray 

And held upon her race. 

And then I knew the lovely thing. 
And guessed her name straightway: 

She was the darling child of spring. 
The little maid called May. 

\.'lv» ^-~>>'^ 


Bv Charles F. Lummis. 

'ERY ancient and character- 
istic story about the origin of 
[sleta is based on the his- 
toric fact that part of its 
founders came from east 
of the Manzano Moun- 
tains, — from one of 
the prehistoric Pueblo 
towns whose ruins are 
now barely visible in those broad plains. 

Once upon a time there lived in one of those 
villages (so runs the story) a young Indian 
named Kahp-too-6o-yoo, the Corn-stalk Young 
Man. He was not only a famous hunter and a 
brave warrior against the raiding Comanches, 
but a great wizard ; and to him the Trues had 
given the power of the clouds. When Kahp- 
too-oo-yoo willed it, the glad rains fell, and 
made the dry fields laugh in green ; and without 
him no one could bring water from the sky. 
His father was Old-Black-Cane, his mother was 
Corn-Maiden, and his two sisters were Yellow- 
Corn-Maiden and Blue-Com-Maiden. 

Kahp-too-oo-yoo had a friend, a young man 
of about the same age. But, as often happens, 
the friend was of a false heart, and was really a 
witch, though Kahp-too-oo-yoo never dreamed 
of such a thing. 

The two young men used to go together to 
the mountains to get wood, and always carricil 

their bows and arrows, to kill deer and ante- 
lopes, or whatever game they might find. 

One day the false friend came to Kahp-too- 
oo-yoo and said: 

" Friend, let us go to-morrow for wood, and 
to hunt." 

They agreed that so they would do. Next 
day they started before sunrise, and came pres- 
ently to the spot where they gathered wood. 
Just there they started a herd of deer. Kahp- 
too-oo-yoo followed part of the herd, which fled 
to the northwest, and the friend pursued those 
that went southwest. After a long, hard chase, 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo killed a deer with his swift 
arrows, and brought it on his strong back to the 
jjlace where the friends had separated. Presently 
came the friend, very hot and tired, and with 
empty hands; and seeing the deer, he was 
pinched with jealousy. 

" Come, friend," said Kahp-too-oo-yoo. " It 
is well for brothers to share with brothers. Take 
of this deer and cook and eat ; and carry a part 
to your house, as if you had killed it yourself." 

" Thank you," answered the other coldly, as 
one who will not ; but he did not accept. 

When they had gathered each a load of wood, 
and lashed it with rawhide thongs in bundles 
upon their shoulders, they trudged home — 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo carrying the deer on top of 
his wood. His sisters received him with joy. 




praising him as a hunter; and the friend went 
away to his liouse with a heavy face. 

Several different days when they went to the 
mountain together, the very same thing came 
to pass. Kahp-too-oo-yoo killed each time a 
deer ; and each time the friend came home with 
nothing, refusing all offers to share as brothers. 
.\nd he grew more jealous and more sullen 
every da)-. 

At last he came again to invite Kahp-too-oo- 
yoo to go ; but this time it was with an evil 
purpose that he asked. Then again the same 
thing happened. Again the unsuccessful friend 
refused to take a share of Kahp-too-oo-yoo's 
deer ; and when he had sat long without a 
word, he said : 

'• Friend Kahp-too-oo-_voo, now I will jjrove 
you, if you are truly my friend, for I do not 
think it." 

" .Surely." said Kahp-too-oo-yoo. " if there is 
any way to prove myself, I will do it gladh, 
for truly I am your friend." 

"Then come, and we will play a game to- 
gether, and with that I will prove you." 

" It is well. But what game shall we play, 
for here we have nothing ? " 

Near them stood a broken pine-tree, with 
one great arm projecting from its twisted body. 
And looking at it, the false friend said, " I see 
nothing but to play the gallo race; and be- 
cause we have no horses we will ride this arm 
of the pine-tree — first I will ride, and then you." 

So he climbed the pine-tree and sat astride 
the limb as upon a horse, and rode, reaching 
over to the ground as if to pick up something, 
in imitation of one of the most popular and ex- 
citing sports of the southwestern Indians and 
Mexicans — in which the players, on horseback 
and at a wild gallop, try to snatch some tiny 
object from the ground. 

" Now you," he said, coming down ; and 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo climbed the tree and rode on 
the swinging branch. But the false friend be- 
witched the pine, and it grew in a moment 
to the very sky, carrying iCahp-too-oo-yoo. 

" We do this to one another," taunted the 
false friend, as the tree shot up ; and taking the 
wood, and the deer which Kahp-too-oo-yoo 
had killed, he went to the village. There the 
sisters met him, and asked : 

" Where is our brother ? " 

" Truly 1 know not, for he went northwest 
and I southwest ; and though I waited long at 
the meeting-place, he did not come. Probably 
he will soon return. But take of this deer which 
I killed, for sisters should share the labors of 

But the girls would take none of the meat, 
and went home sorrowful. 

Time went on, and still there was no Kahp- 
too-oo-yoo. His sisters and his old parents 
wept always, and all the village was sad. And 
soon the crops grew yellow in the fields, and 
the springs failed, and the animals walked like 
weary shadows; for Kahp-too-oo-yoo, he who 
had the power of the clouds, was gone, and 
there was no rain. And then perished all that is 
green ; the animals fell in the brown fields ; and 
the gaunt people who sat to warm themselves in 
the sun began to die there where they sat. At 
last the poor old man said to his daughters : 

" Little daughters, prepare food, for again 
we will go to look for thy brother." 




The girls made cakes of tlie blue corn- 
meal for the journey ; and on the fourth 
day they started. Old-Black-Cane hobbled 
to the south, his wife to the east, the elder 
girl to the north, and the younger to the 

For a great distance they traveled ; and 
at last Blue-Com-Maiden, who was in the 
north, heard a far, faint song. It was so 
little that she thought it must be imagi- 
nary ; but she stopped to listen, and softly, 
softly it came again : 

" To-ai-foo-ni-hloo-]ilim , 
Ing-k'/iai Mhahm ; 
Iiig-k'hai k'hahm. 
Ah-ee-ai, ak-ee-ai, aim .' " 

{'■ Old- Black-Cane 
My father is called ; 
Corn- Maiden 
My mother is called. 
Ah-ee-ai, ah-ee-ai, aim ! ") 

When she heard this, Blue-Corn-Maiden 
ran until she came to her sister, and cried : 

'• Sister ! Sister I I think I hear our 
brother somewhere in captivity. Listen ! " 

Trembling, they listened ; and again the 
song came floating to them, so soft, so sad that 
they wept — as to this day their people weep 
when a white-haired old man, filled with the 
memories of Kahp-too-00-yoo, sings that plain- 
tive melody. 

" Surely it is our brother!" they cried; and 
off they went running to find their parents. 
And when all listened together, again they 
heard the song. 

" Oh, my son ! " cried the poor old woman, 
"in what captivity do you find yourself? True 
it is that your father is Old- Black-Cane, and I, 
your mother, am called Corn- Maiden. But 
why do you sing thus ? " 

Then all four of them began to follow the 
song, and at last they came to the foot of the 
sky-reaching pine ; but they could see nothing 
of Kahp-too-oo-yoo, nor could their cries reach 
him. There, on the ground, were his bow and 
arrows, with strings and feathers eaten away by 
Vol. XIX.— 34. 

time; and 
there also 
was his pack 
of wood, tied 
witii the raw- 
^ hide ihong, and 
ready to be taken 
home. But after 
they had searched every- 
where they could not find 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo; and at last 
they went home heavy at 

One day it happened that 

P\jh-uiah-yoo-6o-deh, or the 

Little Black Ant, took a 

journey and went up the 

, bewitched pine, even to 

its top in the sky. When 

he found Kahp-too-oo-yoo 

there, a prisoner, the Little 

Black Ant was astonished, and 

said : 

"Great Kah-bdy-deh (Man of 
Power), how comes it that you are 
up here in such a condition, while 
\ our people at home are suffering 
and dying for rain, and few are left 
to meet you if you return ? Are you here of 
your free will?" 

" No," groaned Kahp-too-oo-yoo ; " but I am 
here because of the jealousy of him who was as 
my brother, with whom I shared my food and 
labor, whose home was my home, and my 
home his. He is the cause, for he w^as jealous 
and bewitched me hither. And now I am 
dying of famine." 

" If that is so," said the Little P.lack Ant, " I 
w^ill be the one to help you " ; and he ran down 
to the world as fast as he could. When he got 
there he sent out the crier to summon all of his 
nation, and also those of the In-toon, the Big 
Red Ants. Soon all the armies of the Little 
Black Ants and the Big Red .-Xnts met at the 
foot of the pine, and held a council. They 
smoked the wecr (sacred cigarette), and de- 
liberated what should be done. 

" You Big Red Ants are stronger than we 


who are small," said the War-Captain of thu 
Little Black Ants, " and for that reason you 
ought to take the top of the tree to work." 

'• Ecn-dah (No)," said the War-Captain of 
the Big Red Ants. " If you think we are the 
stronger, give us the bottom, wlicre we can 
work more, and you '^^^> to the top." 

.So it was agreed, and the captains made 
their armies ready. J!ut first the Little Black 
Ants got the cup of an acorn, and mixed in it 
corn-meal and water and honey, and carried it 
up the tree. They were so many that they 
covered its trunk all the way to the sky. 

When Kahp-too-oo-yoo saw, his heart was 
heavy, and he thought : " But what good will 
that very little do me, for 1 am dying of 
hunger and thirst ? " 

" Nay, friend," answered the Captain of the 
Little Black Ants, who knew his thought; "a 
person should not think so. This little is enough, 
and there will be some left." 

And it was so ; for when Kahj)-too-oo-yoo 
had eaten all he could, the acorn-cup was still 
nearly full. 

Then the ants carried the cup to the ground 
and came back to him. 

" Now, friend," said the Captain, " we will 
do our best. But you must shut your eyes 
till I say ' Ahw ! ' " 

Kahp-too-oo-yoo shut his eyes, and the Cap- 
tain made signals down to those at the foot of 
the tree. And the Little Black Ants above 
put their feet against the sky and pushed with 
all their might on the top of the pine ; and 
the Big Red Ants below caught the trunk and 
pulled as hard as they could ; and the very 
first tug drove the great pine a quarter of its 
length into the earth. 

" Ahw ! " shouted the Captain of the Little 
Black Ants; and Kahp-too-oo-yoo opened his 
eyes, but he could see nothing below. 

"Shut your eyes again," said the Captain, 
giving the signal. Again the Little Black Ants 
pushed mightily against the sky, and the Big 
Red Ants ])ulled mightily from below; and the 
pine was driven anollier fourth of its length into 
the earth. 

"Ahw ! " cried the Captain ; and when Kahp- 
too-oo-yoo opened his eyes he could just see the 
big, brown world. 

-\gain he closed his eyes. There was another 
great push and pull, and only a (juarter of the 
great pine was left above the ground. Now 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo could see, far below, the 
jiarchcd fields strewn with dead animals, and 
his own \illagc full of d\ing people. 

.Again tlie Little llla<:k Ants pushetl and the 
Big Red Ants pulled; and this time the tree was 
driven clear out of sight, and Kahp-too-oo-yoo 
was left sitting on the ground. He hastily made 
a bow and arrows, and soon killed a fat deer, 
which he brought and divided among the Little 
Black Ants and the Big Red .Ants, thanking 
them for their kindness. 

Then he made all his clothing to be new, tor 
he had been four years a prisoner in the be- 
witched tree, and was all in rags. Making for 
himself a flute from the 
bark of a young tree, 
he played upon it as he 
strode homeward, antl 
then he sang : 

^^ Kahp -loo -00 -\oo tii- 

Nali-shur k7i<e-chay-tiu : 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo tu-mah- 


(" Kahp-too-oo-yoo has 

come to life again, 
Is back to his home 

Blowing the yellow anil 

the blue; 
Kahp-too-oo-yoo has 
come to life again.") 

<>>^.t_ . 

As he walked and ^^ ■^ 

played, the forgotten 
clouds came over him, 

, KAIII'-TOO-Ou->uu 

and the soft ram began calling the rain. 
to fall, and all was green and good. But only so 
far as his voice reached came the rain ; and be- 
yond all was still death and drought. When he 
came to the end of the wet, he played and sang 
again ; and again the rain fell as far as his voice 
was heard. This time the Fool-Boy, who was 
wanilering outside the dying village, saw the far 
storm antl heard the singing. He ran to tell 




K.ahp-too-00-yoo's parents; but nobody would 
believe a Fool-Boy, and they sent him away. 

When the Fool-Boy went out again, the rain 
fell on him and gave him strength, and he came 
running a second time to tell. Then the sisters 
came out of the house and saw the rain and 
heard the song; and they cried for joy, and told 
ihrir parents to rise and meet him. But the 
poor old peoijle were dying of weakness, and 
could not rise; and the sisters went alone. 
When they met him they fell on their knees, 
weeping ; but Kahp-too-oo-yoo lifted them up 
and blessed them. He gave an ear of blue 
corn to Blue-Corn-Maiden, and to Yellow- 
Corn-Maiden an ear of yellow corn, and 
brought them home. 

As he sang again, the rain fell in the village ; 
and when it touched the pinched faces of the 
starving they sat up and grew strong. And the dy- 
ing crawled out to drink, and were strong again; 
and the withered fields grew green and glad. 

When they came to the house, Kahp-too 00- 
yoo blessed his parents, and then said : 

" Little sisters, give us to eat." 

But they answered, " How ? For you have 
been gone these four years, and there was none 
to give us rain. We planted, but nothing came, 
and to-day we ate the last grain." 

" Nay, Httle sisters," he said. " A person 
should not think so. Look now in the store- 
room, to see if there be not something there." 

" But we have looked and looked, and have 
turned over everything to iry to find even one 

" Yet look once more," he said ; and when 
they opened the door, lo ! there was the store- 
room piled to the roof with corn, and another 
room was full of wheat. Then they cried for 
joy, and began to roast the blue ears, for they 
were dying of hunger. 

At the sweet smell of the roasting corn came 
the starving neighbors, crowding at the door, 
and crying : 

"O Kahp-too-oo-yoo! Cixe us to taste one 
grain of com, and then we will go home and 

But Kahp-too-oo-yoo handed to each an ear, 
and said : 

" Fathers, brothers, go now to your own 
houses, for there you will find corn as much as 
here." And when they went, it was so. All 
began to roast com and to eat ; and the dead 
in the houses awoke and were strong again, and 
all the village sang and danced. 

From that day there was plenty of rain, for he 
who had the power of the clouds was at home 
again. In the spring the people planted, and 
in the fall the crops were so great that all the 
town could not hold them. 

As for the false friend, he died of shame in 
his house, not daring to come out; and no one 
wept for him. 


By F. Cakrvi.. 

{Begun in the Dectmhr mitiitfr.\ The liouses wcrc all brilllantl)- lighted up, and 

Chaptfr XI there were great iron lamps swung on chains 

across the street, so that the street itself was 

THE DANCING ANIMALS. ^j^^^gj ^ ^^jgj^j ^^ ^,,,y ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^ 

It seemed to be evening again, and, although fused sound of fiddling going on somewhere, 

the Ferryman w^as nowhere in sight, Dorothy and as Dorothy walked along she could hear 

knew the place the moment she looked up and a scuffling noise inside the houses as if the in- 

saw the peaked roofs outlined against the sky. habitants were dancing about on sanded floors. 




The strangest thing about the fiddHng was " Is n't it rather unusual," slie said to the 
that it seemed to be going on somewhere in the Sheep (it seemed more natural, somehow, to 
air, and the sound appeared to come from all speak to the Sheep) — "is n't it rather unusual 
directions at once ; and presently, as Dorothy for different animals to be so much alike ? " 
turned a comer, she came upon a number of " Not in oicr set," said the Sheep, conceitedly, 
storks who were dancing a solemn sort of qua- " We all know who 's who. Of course we have 
drille up and down the middle of the street, to mark the pigs, as they 're so extremely like the 
They stopped dancing as Dorothy came along, polar-bears;" and Dorothy noticed that two 
and, after gazing gravely at her for a moment, pigs, who were dancing just opposite to her, had 

labels with " pig " on them 
hung around their necks by 
little chains, as if they had 
been a couple of decanters 
— " only," she thought, " it 
would have been ' sherry ' 
or ' M.A.DEIR.A.' instead of 
' PIG,' you know." 

" I suppose you all came 
out of a Noah's Ark," she 
said presently, at a venture. 
" Of course. How very 
clever you are ! " said the 
Sheep, admiringly. ' Lar- 
gest size, I believe. By the 
way," the Sheep added con- 
fidentially, " those two tapirs 
flew away over the tops of the houses, with over there are too greedy for anything, about 
the sound of the fiddling following them like a invitations. If they don't go out everynight, 
traveling band until it finally died away in the they 're always put out." 

distance. This sounded like a joke, but the Sheep was 

But the scuffling noise in the houses contin- so serious that Dorothy did n't dare to laugh, so 
ued, and Dorothy did just what you 'd suppose she said, by way of continuing the conversation, 
such a curious little child would do — that is, " I don't see any birds here." 


she stole up and peeped in at one of the win- 
dows; but she could see nothing through the 
thick glass but some shadows bobbing con- 
fusedly about. After hesitating a moment, she 
softly opened the door and went in. 

The room was full of animals of every de- 
scription, dancing around in a ring with the 
greatest enthusiasm ; and as Dorothy appeared 

" Oh dear, no ! " exclaimed the Sheep ; " you 
see, this is really a quadrupedrille. Of course 
you're all right, because it 's precisely as if you 
were dancing on your hind feet. In fact," she 
added, nodding approvingly, " you look almost 
as well as if you were." 

" Thank you ! " said Dorothy, laughing. 

" There was a seal that wanted to join," the 

they all shouted, " Here she is ! " and, before she Sheep went on. " He pressed us very hard, but 

could say a single word, the two nearest to her he never made the slightest impression on us"; 

(they were an elephant and a sheep, by the way) and there was a twinkle in the Sheep's eyes as 

seized her by the hands, and the next moment she said this, so that Dorothy felt morally certain 

she was dancing in the ring. She was quite sur- it 7L'as a joke this time; but, before she could 

prised to see that the elephant was no bigger than makeany reply, the Elephant called out " Paws! " 

the sheep ; and, as she looked about, it seemed and the animals all stopped dancing and began 

to her, in the confusion, that all the animals in walking about and fanning themselves with little 

the room were of precisely the same size. portfolios whicli they jiroduced in such a mys- 



terioiis manner that Dorothy could n' see where 
in the world they came from. 

" Now, look here," said the Elephant, — he 
seemed to be a sort of Master of Ceremonies, 
and the animals all clustered about him as he 
said this, — '■ why can't s/ie dance with the 
Camel ? " and he pointed out Dorothy with his passed directly through the fireplace into the 


It was a very peculiar dance, and, as near as 
Dorothy could make it out, consisted principally 
in the animals passing her along from one to 
another as if they were each anxious to get rid 
of her; and presently she discovered that, in 
some unaccountable manner, she had been 


" She can ! " shouted the animals in chorus. 
"Come on, Sarah!" And the Camel, who had 
been moping in a comer w-ith her head against 

the wall, came forward with a very sulky ex- 
pression on her face. 

" Her name is Sahara," w-hispered the Sheep, 
plucking at Dorothy's frock to attract her atten- 
tion, " but we call her Sarah to save time. She 's 
kind of grumpy now because the other Camel 
stayed away, but she '11 titter like a turde when 
she gets to dancing." 

" I don't know what relation she is to Hum- 
phrey," thought Dorothy, as the Camel took her 
by the hand, " but she 's certainly big enough to 
be his great-grandmother ten times over." Be- 
fore she had time to think any more about it, 
the Elephant called out, " Ladies change !" and 
the dancing began again harder than ever. 

next house ; but as this house was quite as full of 
dancing animals as the other, this did n't help 
matters much except that it got Sarah out of 
the way — " and that" said poor little Dorothy 
to herself, " is certainly 
something .'" 

Just then the Elephant, 
who had mysteriously ap- 
peared from a pantry in 
one comer of the room, 
shouted out, " All cross 
over ! " and the animals 
began to crowd out of the 
front gateway and then to 
caper in great confusion 
across the street and into 
the house on the other side 
of the way. Dorothy, 
watching her chance, hid 
behind a large chum that 
was standing conveniently 
in the middle of the street ; 
and when they had all 
passed in, she ran away 
down the street as fast as 
she could go. 

She ran on until she had 
"^rig^ got quite out of the Ferry- 

man's street, and was walking along in the open 
country, feeling quite plea.sed with herself for 
having so cleverly escaped from the dancing- 
party without having to take the trouble of .say- 
ing " Good-night " to the Elephant, when she 
saw in the moonlight something white lying 
beside the road, and going up to it, .she dis- 
covered it was a letter. 

Chapter XII. 


The letter was lying on a flat stone, with 
several lumps of sugar laid on it like paper- 
weights to keep it from blowing away. It was n't 



at all a nice-looking letter ; in fact, it looked as 
if it had been dragged over the ground for a 
long distance; and Dorothy, after observing all 
this, was just turning away when she chanced to 
look at the address and saw that the letter was 
intended for her. The address was written in a 
very cramped little hand, and the writing was 


went on, "and of course that accounts for the 
sugar. No one but a rat would ever have 
thought of using sugar for paper-weights. If 
I was n't afraid of a rat I 'd it had n't 
gone away, though, for I have n't tlic slightest 
idea where the Caravan is." 

But it presently appeared that the noble rat 

crowded up into one corner as if it were trying had arranged the whole matter for her ; for as 

to get over the edge of the envelop ; but the Dorothy ran along she began to find lumps of 

words were " to dorothy," as plain as possible, sugar set up at intervals like litde mile-stones, 

" What a very strange thing ! " she said to her- so that she should n't miss the road, 

self, taking up the letter and turning it over " It 's precisely hke 'Hop-o'-my-thumb,'" she 

several times rather distrustfully. " I don't think said, laughing to herself when she saw these, 

it looks very nice, but it may be something im- " only better, because, you see, the liirds can't 

portant, and I suppose I ought to read it" ; and 
saying this, she opened the letter. It was printed 
in funny little letters something like bird-tracks, 
and this was what was in it : 

carry them oftV 

The rat, however, seemed to have had a very 
roundabout idea of a road, for the lumps of 
sugar were scattered zigzag in every direction, 
and, at one place, led direcdy through a knot- 

We are in a bad fix. Tlie fixisacige. We have been i i i. 

seezed in a outburst of ungovernernable fury by Bob hole m a fence as if nobody could possibly have 

Scarlet. He says there 's been too many robbin pies. He any trouble in getting through ///<//',• but, as the 

goes on and says he is going to have a girl pie. With ijtde mile-stones appeared again on the other 

gravy. We shreeked out that we wasn't girls. Only dis- gj^je of the fence, Dorothy scrambled over and 

gized and tuff as anything. He says with a kurdling laff 
we '11 do. O save us. We wish we was home. Tliere is 
no male and we send this by a noble rat. 

The Carav.\n. 

ran on. Then she found herself climbing over 
rocks and wading through litde puddles of water 
where the sugar was set up on stones in the most 

"That 's the most 
ridiculous letter I ever 
got ! " said Dorothy, 
gazing at it in blank 
astonishment; "and I 
don't think it 's spelled 
very well ; but of course 
I must go. I ought to 
feel frightened, but I 
really feel as brave as 
an o.x. I suppose that 's 
because I 'm going to 
help the unfortunate"; 
and putting the letter 
in her pocket, she 
started off. 

" It 's perfectly sur- 
prising," she said to her- 

.self as she ran along, " the mischief they get into! thoughtful way, so that it should n't mell ; and 
They 're really no more fit to be going about in another place the lumps were stuck up in a 
alone than so many infants " ; and she was so line on the trunk of a large tree, and, after lead- 
pleased with herself for .saying this that she ing the way through a number of branches, sud- 
began to feel quite large and bold. " But it denly descended on the side of the 
was very clever of 'em to think of the rat," she tree into a little bog, where Dorothy stuck fast 


for several niimites ami gol her shoes very inueh 
soiled. All this was very provoking, and she 
was beginning to get a little out of patience, 
when the lumps of sugar suddenly came to an 
end at a little stone wall ; and, looking over it, 
she spied the Caravan in their cage. 

The cage proved to be an enormous rat-tra]), 
and the Caravan, with remarkable presence of 
mind, had put their legs through between the 
wires at the bottom of it, and were walking 
briskly along, holding up the cage with their 
hands. The news of this extraortlinary per- 

formance had evidently been spread abroad, as 
the Ferryman and a number of serious-looking 
storks were escorting the Caravan with an air 
of great interest, and occasionally taking to 
their heels when the Admiral chanced to look 
at them through the wires with his S])y-glass. 
The Caravan seemed greatly mortified when 
Dorothy ai)peared, and she saw that Sir Walter 
was making a desperate attempt to hide some 
little rattles in the comer of his shawl. 


•• Mow did you ever gel into this scrape ? " 
said Dorothy, rather impatiently. 

" It was easy enough to get into," said the 
Admiral ; " but it pricks us like anylliing when 
we try to get out." 

"And where did those come from?" said 
Dorothy, pointing to the rattles. 

" They was in the cage," said the Admiral, 
trying to look unconcerned. " It 's what they 
call a ratdetrap, you know." 

" And I suppose you went in to get them, 
and got caught," said Dorothy, severely. 

"We thought they were something to eat," 
said Sir Walter, in a rather shamefaced way. 
" There 's seeds in 'em, anyway," remarkeil 
the Highlander. '• You can hear 'em 

" And where are you going now ? " 

said Dorothy ; for by this time 

they were running so fast 

that she could hardly keep 

up with them. 

" We 're going to 
the Ferry," said the 
Admiral, " and these 
pelicans are showing 
us the way ; " and as 
he said this the whole 
party hurried through 
a little archway and 
came out at the water- 

An old stage-coach 
without any wheels was 
floating close up against the 
river-bank, and quite a little 
party of the dancing animals were 
~^ " crowding aboard of it, pushing and 

shoving one another, and all talking in the 
most excited manner ; and as Dorothy found 
herself next to her old friend the Sheep, in the 
crowd, she inquired anxiousl\-, " Where are you 
all going ?" 

" We don't know exacdy," said the Sheep, 
" but we 've all taken tickets to difterent places 
so as to be sure of getting somewhere " ; and with 
this remark the Sheep disappeared in the crowd, 
leaving Dorothy very much bewildered. 

By this time the Caravan had, by great exer- 
tions, climl)ed up on top of tjie coach and were 


silting there in the cage, as if it had been a 
sort of cupola for purposes of observation ; and, 
indeed, the Admiral was already quite absorlied 
in taking in various points of interest with his 
glass. The storks meanwhile had crowded into 
the coach after the animals, and had their heads 
out through all the windows as if there were no 
room for them inside. This gave the coach 
somewhat the appearance of a large chicken- 
coop with too many chickens in it ; and as Doro- 
thy did n't fancy a crowd, she climbed up on 
the box. As she did so, Sarah, the Camel, put 
her head out of the front window and, laying it 
in Dorothy's lap, murmured, " Good-evening," 
and went comfortably to sleep. The next mo- 
ment the fiddles in the air began playing again 
and the stage-coach sailed away. 

Dorothy never knew exactly what happened 
next, because everything was so confused. She 
had an idea, however, that they were all singing 
the Ferry Song, and that they had just got to a 
new part, beginning — 

'■'■ It pours into pknics aiiti siois/ies the dishes" 
when a terrible commotion began on top of the 
coach, and she saw that Bob Scarlet had sud- 
denly appeared inside the cage without his 
7vaistcoat, and that the Caravan were frantically 
squeezing themselves out between the wires. At 
the same moment a loud roaring sound rose in 
the air, and the quadrupeds and the storks began 
jumping out of the windows in all directions. 
Then the stage-coach began 
to rock violently, and 
she felt that it 
was about to 
roll over, and 
clutched at 
the neck of 
the Camel 
to save her- 
self; but the 

Camel had slipped away, and she found she 
had hold of something like a soft cu.shion — 
and the next moment the coach went over with 
a loud crash. 

Dorothy gave a little scream as the coach 
went over, and then held her breath ; but instead 
of sousing into the water as she expected, she 
came down on top of it with a hard bump, and 
found herself sitting up on a carpeted floor. 
For a moment the rat-trap, with Bob Scarlet 
inside of it, seemed to be floating around m the 
air like a wire balloon, and then, as she rubbed 
her eyes and looked again, it slowly changed 
into a bird-cage with a fat robin sitting in it on 
a perch, and peering sharply at her sideways 
with one of his bright little eyes ; — and she 
found she was sitting on the floor of the little 
parlor of the Blue Admiral Inn, with her little 
rocking-chair overturned beside her and the 
cushion firmly clutched in her hand. And as 
for the roaring sound in the air — why, Uncle 
Porticle was fast asleep in his big arm-chair, with 
his handkerchief spread over his face, and 1 
thmk it more than likely that he had something 
to do with the sound. 

Dorothy stared about for a moment, and then 
jumped up and ran to the window. It was 
snowing hard, and she saw through the driving 
snowflakes that the Highlander and Sir Walter 
Rosettes were standing on their pedestals, com- 
placently watching the people hurrying by with 
their Christmas parcels ; and as for the Admi- 
ral, he was standing on his 
pedestal, with a little 
pile of snow like a 
sugar-loaf on 
top of his hat, 
and intently 
gazing over 
the street 
through his 


By Annie A. Preston. 

H,;i rose and a pink have bloomed to-day!" 

Said little lame Ruth to her mother. 
" I watched them open, leaf by leaf; 
And they nodded to each other, 
As if there was something they wished to ,say- 
A secret, you know — and there was no way. 

" And then a .spider with wondrous .skill — 

You '11 hardly believe it. Mother — 
Stretched a web from the pink to the rose. 

So they could talk to each other. 
And ever since then their heads are still, 
For thev sav throuijh their telephone what tliev will." 


Bv James L. Ford. 

For fully five minutes it looked as if there Dr. Mc.\llister, after he and his assistant teach- 

was going to be a free fight. The boys were ers had been bored by constant repetition of 

gathered together in a little knot at the south its pros and cons. 

end of the playground, with shinnies in their There had always been, even before this 

hands, and the whole field rang with their match, the fiercest rivalry between the " Macs," 

e.xcited shouts. or dwellers in Dr. McAllister's house, and the 

" He was on our side, and had a perfect right '' Hickories," as those who Uve in Mr. Sinclair's 

to play wherever he chose and whenever he house are called. There are twenty boys in Mr. 

chose!" e.\claimed Clemens. Sinclair's house and thirteen under the roof of 

" Play ? Yes ! " retorted Graham, " but he Dr. Mc.Mlister, but those who lodge with the 

had no right to hide himself away and then principal are larger and stronger than their rivals, 

pop out like a jack-in-the-box where no one was and make up in superior strength and agility 

looking for him. Supposing I dug a trench and what they lack in numbers, 

put three fellows in it ready to Jump out as In base-ball, where numerical strength does 

soon as the ball came their way, would that lie 
shinny ? " 

" Put your men wherever you like ! We 
don't care!" chimed in Dick Enghsh; "and if 

not count except in furnishing a contingent to 
sit on the woodpile and howl encouragingly, 
the Macs are invincible; but in shinny and 
foot-ball the houses have been for some time 

you can win that way you 're welcome to. We past pretty evenly matched when the full num- 
won this game fair and square, and we '11 leave bers of both are pitted one against the other. 
it to anybody you choose, if you 're not satis- The Hickories once beat the other house 
fied ; but we 're not going to play it over again at base-ball, and that was when they played 
or give in one inch." on a plan suggested by Dick English, which 
" Play it over again ? " cried Graham. " Who was that the Hickories should have the priv- 
wants to play it over again ? Our house ilege of assigning the members of the other 
would n't play a match of jackstraws with you nine to whatever positions they chose. .\nd, 
fellows after this day's performance. Every- the Macs having accepted this condition, Jerry 
body knows that we won, and what 's more, Clemens, the captain of the Hickories, put the 
we 're going to give three cheers for the losers, slow, ponderous Tom Acton behind the bat, and 
according to custom. Now then, fellows, three sent lithe, active Dick Graham to " molder," 
cheers for the high-toned ' Hickories'!" as he expressed it, at right field. Jack Dai- 
Three ironical yells were raised, and then, ton, who could run like a deer, but had long 
with a " Come along, fellows," Graham and his since earned the nickname of " Butter-fingers," 
side walked off, with the satisfaction of having (and justly, too), was sent to first base, while fat, 
had the last word. The great match between lubberly Joe Harris played short-stop. The in- 
the two rival houses of Dr. McAllister's board- efficiency of the disorganized nine was height- 
ing-school was over; but the question, "Who ened, moreover, by the yells of derision which 
won?" has never to this day been satisfactorily went up from the audience on the woodpile at 
settled, for scarcely a week passes that the dis- every bad play ; and the result was that for the 
cussion does not break out afresh in the dormito- first time in the history of the .school the Macs 
ries or on the playground, though the subject were defeated at the game in which their su- 
was long ago banished from the iliiuier-table by [jremacy had before been uni|Ucstioned. That 



was a funny match, as even the vanquished 
players admitted ; but when they sent a chal- 
lenge to the Hickories to play a shinny match. — 
first three goals in live, — it was generally under- 
stood that //lis game would be a desperate and 
hotly contested one, for the Macs felt a little 
sore over their defeat and the accompanying 

The challenge was placed in the hands of 
Jerry Clemens on Friday evening, naming the 
following afternoon as the time, and requesting 
the honor of an early reply. Clemens read the 
challenge to the Hickories gathered about him 
in the common hall, or sitting-room, of Mr. Sin- 
clair's house, and then asked, " What are we 
going to do about it ? " 

" Why, play them, of course ! " exclaimed Dick 
English. " It won't do for the Sinclair House 
to decline a fair and square challenge like that." 

" Well, if we accept," said Clemens, " you 've 
all got to turn up on the playground to-morrow 
afternoon ready for business. The last time we 
played them, there were three of you little sha- 
vers who sneaked off and did n't play at all. No 
wonder they licked us. Now I want to know, 
before I send an answer over to Graham, how 
many of you are going to play and how many 
are going to spend the afternoon sitting around 
the stove and trying to keep warm. If there 's 
any one here who 's going to sneak off, let him 
■speak now." 

No one answered for a moment, and then 
Tommy Wines, a very small and chubby boy, 
said timidly, " I 'm likely to be kept in to- 
morrow afternoon ; but I '11 try and get off so 
as to play too." 

Clemens looked down at the round, innocent 
face and smiled broadly. " Well, Tommy," he 
said, " I 'm glad to see that you 're ready to 
.sacrifice yourself on the altar of patriotism, and 
I hope you won't come to grief through it. 
Now is anybody else kept in ? " 

" No, there 's nobody but Tommy, and he 
does n't count," exclaimed English ; and so 
Clemens wrote an acceptance to the challenge 
and despatched two of the smaller boys with it 
to Dick Graham's cpiarters in Dr. Mc.Mlistcr's 

It was Jerry Clemens who had previously won 
for his housemates the name of " Hickories," by 


which they were commonly known. It was just 
before a football match when Dick Graham said 
to him : '• How many fellows have you got on 
your side ? " And Clemens made answer : "An 
even twenty, and they 're all as tough as hick- 
ory." From that time forth the boys in Mr. 
Sinclair's house were known as the Hickories, 
and nobly did they strive in all athletic sports 
to uphold their right to the title. 

The game was called at three o'clock in the 
afternoon ; and at that hour Clemens saw the 
entire strength of the Sinclair house assembled 
on the playground, while Dick Graham mar- 
shaled his full dozen of followers in battle 
array. Clemens's goal was the fence beside the 
school-house, and Graham's was the stone wall 
that bounded the playground on the opposite 

Clemens, who was to lead oft", placed the 
ball a few feet in front of his goal, while the 
Hickories stretched out in an eager line on 
either side of him, ready to run as soon as the 
ball was started. Graham's forces were scat- 
tered over the field awaiting the onslaught. It 
was an important moment, and every nerve was 
strained to its highest point of tension. 

" Are you all ready ? " called Clemens. 

" All ready," answered Graham from his place 
in the center of the field ; and then, while every 
boy held his breath with suppressed excitement, 
the captain of the Hickories raised his shinny 
high above his head — 

" Wines, you 're wanted immediately in the 
school-room," cried Mr. Sinclair suddenly, from 
his open window, and the uplifted .shinny de- 
scended gently to earth, while, amid a roar of 
laughter in which both sides joined. Tommy 
Wines ignominiously marched off to do pen- 
ance in the school-room. 

"Would you like to postpone the m;it< h till 
some day when you can have all your good 
men ? " asked Graham, ironically. 

" You 'II find out before we get through that 
we 've got plenty of good men left," retorted 
Clemens; " and they 're all as tough as hickory, 
too," he added, as he once more raised his 
shinny above his head. " .\re you all ready ? " 

" .Ml ready," and away went the ball, with 
fifteen out of the nineteen Hickories flying after 
it. Four remained to guard the goal. 


Dick Graham stopped the ball by jumping in 
front of it. Then with a terrific blow he sent it 
flying across the field past the goal-keepers and 
through the palings of the fence. 

" One goal for us ! " he called, while tlie 
Macs cheered with delight and the crestfallen 
Hickories walked slowly back to their places. 

" If you 'd had little Tommy standing against the 
fence, he would have stopped the ball for you," 
said Dick Graham, tauntingly. 

And now Jerry spread his 
men out over the field, while 
Graham put the ball on the 
ground and called out, " Are 
you ready ? " 

They were, and the ball 
was sent flying into their 
midst and was cleverly stop- 
ped by Dick English. Dick 
returned it, and in another 
minute the two sides were 
blended in a struggling, 
shouting mob, while the 
clash of sticks and yells of 
" Shinny on your own side! " 
" Home with it ! " " That 's 
a good one ! " rent the air. 
Twice Dick Graham suc- 
ceeded in forcing the ball 
almost up to the Hickory 
goal, and twice it was stop- 
ped by one of the goal- 
keepers and sent flying into 
the middle of the field, where 
the opposing forces fell ujjon 
it in fierce battle for suprem- 
acy. At last Billy Durant, 
a wiry, active lad, succeeded 
in stealing the ball from 
under the sticks of half a "^'"^ """"'ati 


dozen who were fighting for 

it, and sent it obliquely across the field and 

against the stone wall. 

Tommy Wines, in solitary confinement in the 

school-room, brightened up as the yells of the 

victors were borne to his cars, and observed to 

Mr. Sinclair, who was in charge of the room at 

the time : 

"That 's a goal for our side, sir." 

"Why do you say our side ?" (|ueried Mr. 


Sinclair; " I don't see that I belong to either 
side, and your own connection with the game 
has certainly ceased." 

" Rut it 's your house against Dr. McAllis- 
ter's," replied Wines, earnestly. " Those other 
fellows made a big boast and we took 'em up. 
They said this house was no good at shinny; 
and Jerry Clemens and the rest of us said it 
was the best house in the school, and we could 

prove it, too. So we would if we were n't short- 
handed this afternoon." 

" What do you mean by short-handed ? " 
asked Mr. Sinclair, putting aside his book and 
walking over to the window. 

" Why, they 've lost me, have n't they ? " said 
Tommy. Mr. Sinclair made no reply, and after 
a minute or two of silence the boy continued : 
" Please, Mr. Sinclair, may I sit nearer the win- 



(low ? 'I'lic light is so hail here I can't sec to 
study my algebra." 

The teacher smiled as he gave the desired 
permission, and then opened the window and 
stood looking out at the game. The fact that 
the boys of his own house were playing against 
their rivals had aroused his interest, and so he 
continued standing with his back to his pupil, 
and looking through the wide-open window — 
for the afternoon was sunny and warm — at the 
spirited contest. 

" Remember, that 's one goal each ! " shouted 
Clemens, as he raised his stick to open the third 
game. This time the goal was won in less than 
three minutes. Indeed the ball seemed to make 
slow, steady progress from the moment Clemens 
lifted it high in air with one of his strong, swing- 
ing blows, until English, with a quick, cunning 
stroke, snatched it aw-ay from Jack Dalton and 
sent it spinning over the stone wall and " out." 

The et^ect of this second victory was to ren- 
der the followers of Clemens so elated that they 
attempted to repeat the same tactics in the next 
goal, and were defeated by a swift, brilliant rush 
on the part of Dalton, Graham, and Tom Acton, 
who drove the ball through the ranks of the 
Hickories and whirled it between two goal- 
keepers, who were so astonished that they forgot 
what their duties were till the loud bang of the 
ball against the fence told them that the game 
was lost. 

The humiliating defeat was viewed by Mr. Sin- 
clair and Tommy from the school-room window ; 
that is to say, Mr. Sinclair stood by the open 
casement, gravely watching the game, and pur- 
posely ignoring the fact that little Wines was 
climbing on a desk in his eagerness to see the 
match. The teacher did not care to make the 
boy's captivity any more irksome than it was. 
It was bad enough, he thought, to take him 
away from the game, without depriving him of 
the poor pleasure of watching it. 

.And now the last goal was to be contested. 
Clemens placed the ball on the ground before 
him, and then paused to offer a few words of 
caution to his excited followers, who were stand- 
ing in readiness to plunge into the thick of the 

" .Are you ready ? " he shouted. 

"Yes; hurry up!" replied Graham, and the 

ball rose high in the air, and fell far out in the 
field, in the very midst of the enemy. 

" A beauty ! " cried Wines excitedly ; and then, 
realizing where he was, he dropped precipitately 
into his chair and bent over his geography witli 
a look of rapt attention. But Mr. Sinclair did 
not turn round. He was smiling to himself at 
the lad's enthusiasm, and besides, he was be- 
coming interested, for were there not a score of 
boys fighting their way across the playground 
for the honor of the house which bore his 
name? It must have been a cold nature that 
could look upon such a struggle unmoved. 

" They 're not keeping our goal as they ought 
to," murmured Tommy ; " and they '11 lose this 
goal as they lost that other one. First thing 
they know, the ball will go by those two sleepy- 
heads and whack up against the fence, and then 
where are we ? " 

" You may be called upon soon for that 
geography lesson, and then where will you be ? " 
rejoined the teacher in a warning voice, but 
without turning his face from the window. 

" I 'm just going to study it now, sir," said 
little Tommy, briskly turning over the leaves of 
his book, but hardly able to take his eyes from 
the game outside. 

There was silence for a moment or two. 
Mr. Sinclair was watching the progress of the 
game with the keenest interest. The ball was 
over in the center of the field, buffeted to and 
fro under the vigorous strokes of the shinny- 
sticks. The goal was, no doubt, inefficiently 
guarded ; all the boys, with the exception of 
the two " sleepy-heads," as Tommy called them, 
being out in the field in wild pursuit of the fly- 
ing ball. One skilful blow from a stick wielded 
by a strong arm, and the game would be lost, 
unless, indeed, Clemens should succeed in send- 
ing it home this time. 

But no. Graham has stopped it, and is pre- 
paring for a deliberate blow, for none of the 
Hickories can reach him in time to prevent it, 
and the two " sleepy-heads" will be sure to 
tumble over each other in attempting to stop it. 

" Please, may I go for just a minute," says an 
eager voice behind the teacher, and Mr. Sinclair 
utters a short assent without turning his head. 

The boy is " out " before Mr. Sinclair can 
draw another breath — out through the window, 


head over heels on the grass. He has caught 
up a slick, and as the ball comes flying across 
the field he throws himself in its path and it 
strikes his plumj) body with a force that almost 
takes his breath away. He has saved the goal 
when it was within ten feet of being lost, and a 
wild yell tells him that his quickness has been 
ap])reciated. He knocks the ball to Dick Eng- 


lish, who is coming in hot pursuit, English 
knocks it to Clemens, and he in his turn sends it 
home. The great match is over, and Tommy 
Wines meekly returns to the school-room and 
buries himself in his big geography, while the 
I)layground rings with an excited discu.ssion as 
to which side won — a discussion which has 
never been satisfactorily setded to this day. 

A safp: vehicle. 

By J. Ellis Jov. 

I HAVE traveled round the world, 

Northward eighty-one degrees ; 
I have seen ice-mountains hurled 

Into stormy, surging seas. 
'I'o the summit I 've ascended 

Of the highest Alpine peak ; 
And one day my way I wended 

From Ceylon to Mozambique. 

I 've explored with learned sages 

Parthenons and temples Doric ; 
And seen relics of the ages 

That w-e call the prehistoric. 
I 'm at home in Rome and Venice, 

Paris, London, Aberdeen ; 
And I 've danced and played lawn- tennis 

With the daughter of a cjueen. 

I have seen the Arab manly 

Entertaining in his tent ; 
Traveled all the way with Stanley 

Through the darkest Continent ; 
Scaled those W'ondrous, storied cellars 

In our own New Me.xico, 
Where the people called cliff-dwellers 

Lived so many years ago. 

Yet in all my journeys never 

Have I suffered harm's attack ; 
Never coach or car whatever 

That I boarded left the track. 
Never was 1 vexed or daunteil 

.\t hotel or foreign station ; 
For the car in which I jaunted 

Was my own imagination. 


(Stc frontispuc,:) 

By Hk.rminie H. Merriam. 

N'olei riiciiic lie la recreation: les enfants 
s'echai)pent joyeusement de I'ecole, et se preci- 
pitent au-devant du petit marchand qui ne 
manque jamais le moment de la sortie. 

C'est un enfant de dix ^ douze aiis, vetii do 
blanc, ^ la figure douce et avenante, porlant 
fierement son petit beret egalement blanc et la 
planchette suspendue h. son ecu. 

Sa marchandise est soigneusement alignee sur 
du papier blanc ; ce sent les batons de sucre 
d'orge, si chers aux petits Fran<;ais. II y en a 
au citron, a I'orange, au chocolat, au caramel, 
a la guimauve ; ceux-ci blancs et fondants et 
toumes en spirales. Un sou pour les petits, 
deux pour les gros. II est bien rare, qu'en par- 
tant pour I'ecole, I'enfant n'obtienne pas de sa 
niaman la precieuse piece qui doit lui procurer 
ce friand dessert apres son gouter. 

Le jeune marchand sert chacun i son tour, 
recevant les sous dans sa petite boite, et enve- 
lojjpant le bout de chaque baton de sucre d'orge 
d'un morceau de papier, pour que ses jeunes 
pratiques ne se poissent pas les doigts. 

II ne dedaigne pas de faire honneur \ sa mar- 

chandise en goiitant lui-mcnie a I'liii lie ses ba- 
tons. De temps en temps, il I'cloigne de ses 
levres, en criant : " Sucre d'orge, sucre d'orge, 
un sou et deux sous ! " 

Un coin de son tablier est relevc et montre 
ses culottes courtes, ses bas bien tires et ses so- 
lides souliers ; car noire petit marchand doit 
faire de longues courses parmi les ecoles du 
quartier ou il trouve ses meilleurs chalands, et se 
rendre le soir, aux abords des theatres frequentes 
par les ouvriers et leurs families, pour lesquels le 
baton de sucre d'orge est un regal favori. 

C'est sa mere, sans doute, une pauvre veuve, 
qui confectionne chez elle son humble marchan- Son fourneau, toujours allume, regoit le 
melange d'eau d'orge et de sucre, qui, apres une 
longue cuisson, est place dans difierents recep- 
tacles pour y etre aromatise et travaille, puis 
forme en batons qui doivent se refroidir et dur- 
cir sur une plaque de marbre. La joumee ter- 
minee, le petit marchand de sucre d'orge, s'il a 
fait bonne vente, rentre tout joyeux au logis, 
pour verser sur les genoux de sa mere le produit 
de son commerce du jour. 


Bv Amos R. Wells. 

I KNOW a little lady — such a very stately dame ! 
She 's queen of all the lassies, and Elizabeth 's her name. 
I also know a damsel made to romp with and caress ; 
So I keep a welcome ready for my darling little Bess. 
And mother shows me working, just as quiet as a mouse, 
.A pleasant little girl named Beth, the helper of the house. 
And sister shows me Lizzie, who goes with her to school, 
Who sometimes gets a lesson, and sometimes breaks a rule. 
I 'm acquainted with another child I 'd rather never see ; 
For this young girl, named Betsey, is as cross as she can be. 
Now, would you ever guess it ? These five are but the same 
Kaleidoscopic lassie ! And Elizabeth 's her name. 


V^ \ 

.^.5^;^^ .\ ^' 




By Laura E. Richards. 

[Bt'^uti in the January number.^ 

Chapter VI. 


Once upon a time, in a great house standing 
at the comer of Bond street and Broadway, 
New York City, there lived a little girl. She 
was named Julia, after her lovely young mo- 
ther, but as she grew she showed no resem- 
blance to that mother with her great dark eyes 
and wealth of black ringlets. This little girl 
had red hair, and that was a very dreadful thing 
in those da\'s. Very fine, soft hair it was, thick 
and wavy, but — it was red. Visitors, coming to 
see her mother, would shake their heads and 
say, " Poor little Julia 1 what a pity she has red 
hair I " and the tender mother would sigh, and 
regret that her child should have this misfor- 
tune, when there was no red hair in the family, 
so far as one knew. And the beautiful hair was 
combed with a leaden comb, as one old lady 
said that would turn it dark, and it was soaked 
in honey-water, as another old lady said that 
was really the best thing you could do with it ; 
and the little Julia felt that she might almost 
as well be a hunchback or a cripple as that un- 
fortunate creature, a red-haired child. 

When she was six years old, her beautiful 
mother died; and after that Julia and her bro- 
thers and sisters were brought up by their good 
aunt, who came to make her home with them 
and their father. A very good aunt she was, 
and devoted to the motherless children ; but 
sometimes she did funny things. They went 
out to drive every day — the children, I mean — 
in a great yellow chariot lined with fine blue 
cloth. Now, it occurred to their kind aunt 
that it would have a charming effect if the chil- 
dren were dressed to match the chariot. So 
thought, so done ! Dressmakers and milliners 
plied their art ; and one day Broadway was 
electrified by the sight of the little Misses Ward, 
seated in uneasy state on the blue cushions, clad 
Vol. XIX. —35. : 

in wonderful raiment of yellow and blue. They 
had blue peli.sses and yellow satin bonnets, and 
this was all very well for the two younger ones, 
with their dark eyes and hair, and their rosy 
cheeks; but Julia, young as she was, felt dimly 
that blue and yellow was not the combination 
to set off her tawny locks and e.\quisite sea- 
shell complexion. It is not probable, however, 
that she sorrowed deeply over the funny clothes, 
for her mind was never set on clothes, either in 
childhood or in later life. Did not her sister 
meet her one day, coming home from school, 
with one blue shoe and one green? Her mind 
was full of beautiful thoughts, her eyes were 
lifted to the green trees and the blue sky bend- 
ing above them, — what did she care about 
shoes? Yes; and, later, is it not recorded that 
her sisters had great difficulty in persuading her 
to choose the stuff for her wedding-gown ? So 
indifterent was she to all matters of dress ! 

Auntie F. had her own ideas about shoes and 
stockings — not the color,but the quality of them. 
She did not believe in " pompeying " the chil- 
dren ; so in the coldest winter weather Julia and 
her sisters went to school in their slippers and 
white cotton stockings. You shiver at the bare 
thought of this, my girl readers ! You look at 
your comfortable leggings and overshoes (that 
is, if you live in upper New England, or any- 
where in the same latitude), and wonder how 
the Ward children lived through such a course 
of " hardening." But they did live, and Julia 
Ward seems now far younger and stronger than 
any of her children. 

School, which some children regard with 
mingled feelings (or so I have been told), was 
a delight to Julia. She grasped at knowledge 
with both hands : plucked it as a litde child 
plucks flowers, with unwearying enjoyment. 
Her teachers, like the " people " in the case of 

Young I.idy whose eyes 

Were unique as to color and size, 


nil turned nsiilc, and started away in surprise, 
as this little red-haired girl went on learning, 
and learning, and learning. At nine years old 
she was studying Paley's " Moral Philosophy," 
with girls of sixteen and eighteen. She could 
not have been older when she heard a class 
reciting an Italian lesson, and fell in love with 
the melodious language. She listened, and lis- 
tened again ; then got a grammar and studied 
.secretly ; and one day handed to the aston- 
ished Italian teacher a letter, correctly written 
in Italian, begging that she might join the class. 
Will you kindly consider these things, dear girls ? 

When I was speaking of the good aunt who 
was a second mother to the Ward children, I 
meant to say a word of the stern but devoted 
father who was the principal figure in Julia's 
early life. She says of him, " He was a ma- 
jestic person, of somewhat severe aspect and 
reserved manners, but with a vein of true geni- 
ality, and great benevolence of heart." And 
she adds: "His great gravity, and the absence 
of a mother, naturally subdued the tone of 
the whole household ; and though a greatly 
cherished set of children, we were not a very 
merry one." 

Still, with all his gravity. Grandfather Ward 
had his gleams of fun occasionally. It is told 
that Julia had a habit of dropping off her slip- 
pers while at table. One day her father felt a 
wandering shell of kid, with no foot to keep it 
steady. He put his own foot on it and moved 
it under his chair, then .said in his deep, grave 
voice, " My daughter, will you bring me my 
seals, which I have left on the table in my 
room ? " And poor Julia, after a vain and frantic 
hunting with both feet, was forced to go, crim- 
son-cheeked, white-stockinged, and slipperless, 
on the reijuired errand. She would never have 
dreamed of asking for the shoe. She was the 
eldest daughter, the companion and joy of this 
sternly loving father. She always sat next him 
at table, and sometimes he would take her 
right hand in his left, and hold it for many 
minutes together, continuing to eat his dinner 
with his right hand ; while she would rather go 
dinnerless than ask him to release her own 

Grandfather Ward ! It is a relief to confess 
our faults; and it may be my duty to say that, 


as soon as I could reach it on tiptoe, it was my 
joy to pull the nose of his marble bust, which 
stood in the great dining-room at Green Peace. 
It was a fine, smooth, long nose, most pleasant 
to pull ; I fear I got it soiled sometimes with my 
little grimy fingers. I trust children never do 
such naughty things nowadays. 

Then there was Great-grandfather Ward, 
Julia's grandfather, who had the cradle and the 
great round spectacles. Doubtless he had many 
other things besides, for he was a substantial New 
York merchant ; but the cradle and the spec- 
tacles are the only possessions of his that I have 
seen. I have the cradle now, and I can testify 
that Great-grandfather Ward (for I believe he 
was rocked in it, as his descendants for four 
generations since have been) must have been an 
extremely long baby. It is a fine old affair, of 
solid mahogany, and was evidently built to last 
as long as the Wards should last. Not so very 
long ago, two dear people who had been rocked 
together in that cradle fifty — or is it sixty? — 
years ago, sat down and clasped hands over it, 
and wept for pure love and tenderness and " leal 
souvenir." Not less pleasant is its present use as 
the good ship " Pinafore," when six rosy, shout- 
ing children tumble into it and rock violently, 
singing with might and main, " We sail the ocean 
blue, and our saucy ship 's a beauty ! " That is 
all about the cradle. 

My mother writes thus of Great-grandfather 
Ward, her own grandfather : 

He had been a Lieutenant-Colonel in the war of 
American Independence. A letter from the Commander- 
in-Chief to Governor Samuel Ward (of Rhode Island) 
mentions a visit from "your son, a tall young man 
of soldierly aspect." I cannot quote the exact words. 
My Grandfather had seen service in Arnold's march 
through "the wilderness" lo Quebec. He was present 
at the battle of Red Bank. After the close of the war 
he engaged in commercial pursuits, and made a voyage 
to India as supercargo of a merchant vessel belonging 
to Moses Brown, of Providence. He was in Paris at 
the time of the King's death (Louis i6th) and for some 
time before that tragic event. He speaks in his journal 
of having met several of the leading revolutionists of 
that time at a friend's house, and characterizes them as 
"exceeding plain men, but very zealous." He passed 
the day of the King's execution, which he calls " one of 
horror," in Versailles, .and was grieved at the conduct of 
several Americans who not only remained in town, 
but also attended the execution. When he finally left 
Paris, a proscrilied nobleman, disguised as a footman, 


accompanied the carriage, and so clieatcd the guillotine 
of one expected victim. 

Colonel Ward, as my grandfather was always called, 
was a graduate of Brown University, and a man of 
scholarly tastes. He possessed a diamond edition of 
Latin classics which always went with him in his cam- 
paigns, and which is still preserved in the family. In 
matters of art he was not so well posted. Of the pictures 
in the gallery of the Luxembourg he remarks in liis 
diary : '• The old pictures are considered the best, I 
cannot think why." 

I remember him as very tall, stooping a little, with 
white hair and mild blue eyes, which matched well his 
composed speech and manners. 

I have called Great-gramlfather Ward a mer- 
chant, but he was far more than that. The 
son of Governor Ward of Rhode Lsland, he was 
only eighteen when, as a gallant young captain, 
he marched his company to the siege of Bos- 
ton ; and then (as his grandson writes me to- 
day) he '-marched through the wilderness of 
Maine, through snow and ice, barefoot, tn (h]o 
bee." Some of my readers may po> 
sess an engraving of Trumbull '^ 
famous painting of the " Attack on 
Quebec." Look in the left-hand 
comer, and you will see a group ot 
three, one of them a young, acti\c 
figure with flashing eyes — that is 
Great-grandfather Ward. He rose to 
be Major, then Lieutenant-Colonel; 
was at Peekskill, Valley Forge, and 
Red Bank, and wrote the official ac- 
count of the last-named battle, which 
may be found in Washington's corre- 
spondence. Besides being a good 
man and a brave soldier, he was a 
very good grandfather ; and this made 
it all the more naughty for his grand- 
daughter Julia to behave as she did 
one day. Being then a little child, 
she sat down at the piano, placed a 
music-book on the rack, and began 
to pound and thump on the keys, 
making the hideous discord which seems always 
to afford pleasure to the young. Her grand- 
father was sitting by, book in hand ; and after 
enduring the noise for some time patiently, he 
said in his kind, courtly way, " Is it so set down 
in the book, my dear ? " 

"Yes, Grandpapa ! " said naughty Julia, and 
went on banging, while granilpapa,wiio made no 


pretense of being a musician, offered no furtiicr 
comment or remonstrance. 

Julia grew up, a student and a ilrcamer. She 
confesses to having been an extremely absent 
person, and much of the time unconscious of 
what passed around her. '• In tiie large rooms 
of my father's house," she says, " I walked up 
and down, peri)etually alone, dreaming of ex- 
traordinary things that I should see and do. I 
now began to read Shakspere and Byron, and 
to try my hand at poems and plays." She re- 
joices that none of the productions of this 
period was published, and adds, " I regard it 
as a piece of great good fortune, for a little 
praise or a litde censure would have been a 
much more disturbing element in those days 
than in these." I wish these sentiments were 
more general with young writers. 

Still, life was not all study and dreaming. 
There were somclimc^ mcrr\makins;s ; witness 

the gay ball after which Julia wrote to her 
brother : " I have been through the burning 
fiery furnace; and I am Sad-rake, Me-sick, and 
.\bed-no-go." There was mischief, too, and 
sometimes downright naughtiness. Who was 
the poor gentleman, an intimate friend of the 
family, from whom Julia and her sisters ex- 
tracted a promise that he would eat nothing for 


three days hut what the)' should send him, they 
in return promising three meals a day? He 
consented, innocently thinking that these dear 
young creatures wanted to display their skill in 
cookery, and .expecting all kinds of delicacies 
and airy dainties of pastry and confectionery. 
Yes ! and being a man of his word, he lived for 
three whole days on gruel, of which those dear 
young creatures sent him a bowl at morning, 
noon, and night ; and on nothing else. 

In a certain little cabinet where many pre- 
cious things are kept, I have a manuscript poem, 
written by Julia Ward for the amusement of her 
brothers and sisters, when she was still a very 
young girl. It is called "The Ill-cut Mantell, 
a Romaunt of the time of Kynge Arthur." The 
story is an old one, but the telling of it was all 
Julia's own, and I must quote a few lines: 

I cannot well describe in rhyme 

The female toilet of that time. 

I do not know how trains were carried, 

How single ladies dressed, or married, 

I f caps were proper at a ball, 

Or even if caps were worn at all ; 

If robes were made of crape or tulle. 

If skirts were narrow, gored, or full. 

Perhaps, without consulting grace, 

The hair was scraped back from the face. 

While on the head a mountain rose. 

Crowned, like Mont Blanc, wilh endless snows. 

It may be that the locks were shorn; 

It may be that the lofty puff, 

The stomacher, the rising ruff. 

The bodice or the veil were worn. 

Perhaps mantillas were the passion. 

Perhaps ferronieres were in fashion, 

I cannot, and I will not tell. 

But this one thing I wot full well, 

That every lady there was dressed 

In what she thought became her best. 

All further notices, I grieve, 

I must to your invagination leave. 

Julia sometimes tried to awaken in her sisters' 
minds the poetic aspirations which filled her 
own. One day she found the two little girls 
playing some childish game which seemed to 
her unnecessarily frivolous. (You all know, I 
am sure, the elder sister's motto, 

Good advice and counsel sage. 

And " I never did so when I was your age"; 

and the companion sentiment of the younger 

" .Sister, don't ! " and " Sister, do ! " 
.\nd " Why may not I as well as you ? ") 

Miss Ward — she wasalways called Miss Ward, 
poor little dear ! and her dolls taken away from 
her when she was only nine years old, that she 
might better feel the dignity of her position ! — 
Miss Ward rebuked the little sisters, and bade 
them lay aside their foolish toys, and improve 
tlieir minds by composing poetry. Louise 
shook her black curls, and would not — more- 
over, did not, being her.self a child of some firm- 
ness. But little sweet Annie would try, to please 
Sister Julia; and after much thought and labor 
she produced the following pious effusion : 

He feeds the ravens when they call, 
And stands them in a pleasant hall. 

I never can recall these lines without having an 
instant vision of a pillared hall, fair and stately, 
with ravens standing in niches along the sides, 
between the marble columns. 

So this maiden, Julia, grew up to woman- 
hood, dreamy and absent, absorbed in severe 
study and composition, yet always ready with 
the brilliant flashes of her wit, which broke like 
sunbeams through the mist of dreams. She 
was very fair to look upon. No one now pitied 
her for the glorious crown of red-gold hair, 
which set off the rose and ivory of her match- 
less complexion ; every one recognized and ac- 
knowledged in her, " stately Julia, queen of all." 

Once, while on a visit to Boston, Julia heard 
the wonderful story of Laura Bridgman, ^\■ho had 
just been led out of darkness into the light of life 
and joy by a certain Dr. Howe, a man of whom 
people spoke as a modern paladin of romance, 
a Roland or Bayard. She saw him, and felt at 
once that he was the most remarkable man she 
had ever known. He, on his part, saw a youth- 
ful prophetess, radiant and inspired, crowned 
with golden" hair. Acquaintance ripened into 
friendship, friendship into love; and so it hap- 
pened that, in the year 1843, Samuel G. Howe 
and Julia Ward were married. The next chap- 
ter shall tell you of Julia Ward Howe as we, her 
children, have known her. 




By y. EuMUND V. Cooke. 

Hekk 's a motto, just your fit: 
Laugh a little bit." 
When you think you 're trouhlc-hit, 
■ Laugh a little bit." 
Look Misfortune in the face, 
Brave the beldam's rude grimace; 
Ten to one 't will yield its place 
If you have the grit and wit 
Just to laugh a little bit. 

Keep your face with sunsliine lit; — 
• Laugh a little bit." 

Ciloomy shadows off will flit 
If you have the wit and grit 
Just to laugh a little bit. 

Cherish this as sacred writ : 

' Laugh a little bit.'' 
Keep it with you, sample it; — 

■ Laugh a little bit." 
Little ills will sure betide you, 
Fortune may not sit beside you, 
Men may mock and Fame deride you, 
But you '11 mind them not a whit 
If you laugh a little bit. 




•A CASE or 

Ocv-icL cx Oex,t to His Sons, 
I SH OLilci clccixt 

This loLitkc T'ic1:u,-rG/ -BooK-Boy- 
C-cx-i-r'ic^cL <^r"e.a.m. 
Xj<z^t XiS give' Kini c\, Soevre^, 
»So rie- LI le^ccvc' il rioKl lnor"<r-. — 
This "will sl-ioA/v tlzc 3u,ccosa 

of Kis &c\-i<L'Tn.<z^. 

\\A X X X > | 

TKe- Sc.^ice' 





Here comes May — the sweetest, loveliest month 
of the entire twelve, excepting those that when they 
arrive turn out to be just as sweet and lovely ! 
This is to be blossom-time in earnest, my hearers, 
blossom-time overhead, blossom-time underfoot, 
blossom-time in our hearts, and blossom-time in — 
in — m, — well, in our intentions; for you see 1 
have a pl.ui to propose. In a word, 1 am going to 
ask you to 


Yes, your Jack wishes every and each one of you, 
my young friends, to plant something this spring — 
plant something, however small, and care for it and 
watch its development. It may be that many of you 
have gardens connected with your homes, or even 
hothouses and conservatories. So much the better 
if you enjoy them. But that is not quite it. 1 should 
like to know that this year every boy and girl in 
America — if only in honor of grand old Columbus 
— has started something growing on American 
soil — a shrub, a vine, a tree. It may be started 
from the seed, or from a cutting, or in any well- 
advised way, — possibly in early May, or later, — but 
let it be something that will live and grow. 

And when autumn comes, please let your Jack 
hear from you in regard to the matter. 

Meanwhile here is a letter concerning 

DiiAK Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I am a country boy. 
We have two dogs, " Umslopogas " and "Webster." 
One day Umslopogas was in the woods and came to the 
house. Web ran out and began to bark at liim; but 
Umps only wagged his tail and the two trotted back to 
the woods together. 

I think that Umps told Web that he had somediing 
worth seeing in the woods. 

Vours, ilear Jack, 

Clarknuon J . 

Did you ever hear a robin singing among the 
cherry-blossoms? Your friend Thomas C. Collier 
not only has heard the song, but he understands 
it perfectly — as this translation of it, which he has 
written for you, prettily testifies : 


On, tlie cherries, cherries, cherries, 
.'\nd the ripe strawberries. 

Where are they ? 
Lo, these snowy blossoms hold them. 
So that sun and dew can mold them 

In the May. 

And when June shall bring completeness 
To their rounded crimson sweetness, 

Then my sliare 
Will all be gathered duly; 
For I '11 not forget them, truly, — 
Berries, berries ; cherries, cherries ; 

Ripe and rare. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Years ago, a family lived 
on a farm in a little country town, where there was 
no railroad, and the nearest city was a number of miles 

The father was very fond of oysters, and how do you 
suppose he managed to have some always " at hand " ? 
He would drive to the nearest city, buy a bushel of 
" real live " ones, and bring them back home witli him. 
But that was not all. They were then carefully placed 
in rows along the cellar floor, where it was rather dark 
and cool, and a little damp. The most interesting part, 
however, was to keep theju alive. Every little while 
some one would go "down-cellar" and feed them by 
sprinkling them with meal and with water. One of the 
little girls in the family, who is now grown up, says she 
can remember how the oysters closed their shells with a 
snap after they were fed ; but perhaps that was only in 
her imagination. Anyway, if they happened to be for- 
gotten for a time, they would be found p.atiently waiting 
with their shells open, ready to receive their ne.xt meal! 

By the way, nearly all of us have heard the saying that 
oysters are good to eat only during the months which 
have an R in their name, but who knows when that 
idea first originated ? It was mentioned in a book called 
" Dyet's Dry Dinner," printed in 1599. We are not so 
very much brighter than our ancestors, after all, are we ? 
Louise B . 

The Deacon says it is to be hoped, for the poor 
oysters' sake, that this titan's cellar was very damp 
indeed, though for the health of the family it 
hardly could have been too dry. He asks, too, 
why could not the oysters have been kept in a com- 
fortable tank, properly supplied with inud and 
water and genuine " sea-salt " ? Indeed, it is pos- 
sible that he is not strictly pleased with this inland 
father for keeping oysters in his down-cellar, half- 
fed way. What wonder that their shells often stood 
pathetically open! Yet the father had his oysters. 

Vi^HICH ? 
My hearers ! w hich would you prefer to resem- 
ble — the fellow who, having traveled once around 
the earth, declared there was nothing more for him 
to learn, or the Frenchman wdio said, " Life is too 
short to enable me thoroughly to study all the 
wonders in a square foot of meadow-land"? 

TACK-i\- Tin; rui.i'iT. 



A HAWK, llics at the rate of one hundred and 
t'lfty miles an hour. 

Well, well. That does not at all remind us of a 
small boy going on an errand. Does it now? 


0.\KI.AND, Cal. 

Dear Jack : I cannot tell you anything new about 
the appearance of the red and white clover, but I can tell 
you something about the different uses of it. 

The red clover is used by the Dakota Indians as an 
article of food. They pound the seed until it becomes 
a mere pulp, and then they mix it with onions and bake 
it like a cake. 

The same clover is used also as a sort of salad. 
Vour interested listener, Harriet E. G . 


Dear Jack : Three tiers of brilliantly colored httle 
birds was one of the many pretty sights I often saw 
in the bird-market in Paris. To lighten his burden, the 
owner of these pretty songsters had placed a great many 
of them into one large cage. The cage had but a single 
perch — a long one, to be sure, yet at best it could hojd only 
one third of the birds. As you may suppose, all places 
on this perch were always in great demand, and usually 
its whole length was fully occupied by the tiny warblers, 
crowded together in jolly companionship. Flying about 
the cage in all directions were those not fortunate enough 
to secure " seats," and their antics in endeavoring to find a 
resting-place were very pretty and clever. Alighting on 
the seated ones, they would wedge their tiny feet between 
two of them in an attempt to reach the perch ; and some- 
times they succeeded ; but more often a second tier of 
birds was started by the new-comers coolly getting upon 
the backs of the first. .\ slight disturbance of the center 
of gravity, however, and all would come tumbling down. 
Then there would be great commotion and a perfect 
medley of color, as the birds rushed again, pell-mell, for 

the coveted places. Presently quiet would be restored, 
and the two tiers of birds again successfully completed. 

Hut there were still others flying about, or hopping 
around on the bottom of the cage, who also e.\pccled to 
get resting-places. To perch on top of tlie second tier 
was indeed a very pretty and a very difficult performance, 
as there was considerable wobbling in the lower tiers, 
even at the lightest touch of a hovering bird. Finally, 
with dainty wings and feet outstretched in slow descent, 
a bright little acrobat would start the third tier. But 
alas ! the next bird might prove a careless little fellow, 
and would upset them all. 

However, in spite of accidents and carelessness, the 
third tier was often finished, and sometimes it lasted even 
several minutes before it was demolished. But when 
the pyramid was completed, usually some hungry little 
chap in the first story, spying a dainty morsel lying on the 
bottom of the cage, would withdraw his support, to the 
disaster and confusion of the crowd. 

Thus it went on, all day long — incessant change of 
place and form and color. Happily through it all the 
little acrobats were as merry as birds could be, pouring 
out their liquid music into the golden sunshine, joyously 
twisting and shaking their bright little heads. The grand 
music of old Notre Dame Cathedral, close by, was not 
more charming than that of this pretty feathery choir sing- 
ing under the kind inspiration of a soft June sky. 

Meredith Nugent. 

red dogtooth violets? 

San Francisco, Cal. 

Dear Jack : Last spring I found two dark-red dog- 
tooth violets growing in a damp wood in the eastern 
part of New York State. 

Were they merely a freak of nature, or is there a red 
species ? O. M. L. 

There are no dog-tooth violets near my pulpit, 
red or otherwise ; but I am told that hosts of fine 
yellow ones come up every spring in the woods 
yonder ! Have any of you, my children, ever 
found any dark-red dog-tooth violets? 



j^y Said the first little mouse, " We 've no cheese for tea." 
x^'mj Said the second, " Oh, what shall we do ? " 

Said the third, " I '11 creep up the stairs and see 
If the hole in the cupboard is through; 

For there 's plenty of crackers and cheese on the shelf, 

And Betty the cook has gone out; 
And if I can get in, I can help myself 

To enough for us all, no doubt." 

Oh, I will go too!" said the first, with a squeak. 
" And I ! " said the second. " Oh, dear ! 
I hope," said the third, " the old cat is asleep ; 
Her claws are most dreadful, I hear!" 

■Nothing risked, nothing gained," cried all in one voice; 

So upstairs they scampered in glee ; 
But, like old Mother Hubbard's, the cupboard 
was bare. 
And not even a bone could they see. 


\ ^l"<|g> 

Oh, here are three holes," said the first little 

" Let 's peep in and see what we find there." 
Snip, snap, snip! — all was still in the dreary 
old house. 
And the three little mice were — where? 

In the clutch of an enemy worse than a cat 
Their three little heads were caught. 

While just within reach were the tidbits of cheese 
Which they had so eagerly sought. 

And when Betty the cook came down in the dawn 

And opened the cupboard door. 
There were three little tails sticking straight from the trap, 

But the three little mice were no more. 


EDITORIAL NOTE. love riding, and each of us has an Arabian horse (sml. 

A TRAN'S>.A r.o.N of the story. " Lc PclH Manhand dc jl^hT" Ive h-!ve'follnwed T\ "'"^T'" ""'' 'l",'"' " "'^'"V 

,, • , • , -,1 , .. "»"'• "e have lollowed the hounds several tniies wnh 

Siicn- ,i Org,; in this number, will soon be published in Uncle Kenneth, and enjoy hunting very much, but we 

St. N'ichoi..-\s. Meanwhile young scholars will enjoy always leave before the finish, as we c.mnot bear to see 

reading the story in French. ""^ fox l^i'l"'- 

.\ river Hows through our estate, and we boat a good 

deal. One day our boat was upset, and we, being caught 

Faxon, Minn. '" 'he current, were rapidly drifting into a whirlpool 
Mv Dkar St. Nicholas : I am eleven years old, and i-'allcd the Witches' Cauldron ; but, thanks to our swim- 
live in the western part of Minnesota, on a farm by the "I'ng powers, and to the assistance of a rope thrown by 
banks of the Minnesota River. My only glimpse of the °"^ of our boy cousins, we reached the bank safely, 
outside world is St. Nicholas, and I wait for it every ^^'^ ^''^ twins, fourteen years old, and go to school in 
month, and like the stories very mucli. I have a great Germany; we are home for the holidays now. Good-by. 

many pets, such as lambs, birds, and a good many others. 
1 have been taking St. Nicholas for three years, and 
have found much pleasure in reading the other little 
folks' letters. I wish you as much pleasure as St. 
Nicholas brings to your little friend 

Km 1 Y W . 

Mexico Citv. 

Una and Peggy. 


Thk aquarium is a wonderfully useful pleasure. It is 
a source of amusement and also one of observation. The 
other day I bought a large iron-tipped aquarium, and I 
Dear St. Nicholas: lam a little girl, and have lived also bought with it some lizards, some goldfish (which 
in Mexico City three years. There are many curious die very easily), some silverfish, some eels, and as a gift 
things here, and we do not speak the same language you received two polliwogs. I also bought some little rock- 
do, but we like to read the Sr. Nicholas all the same, fish, besides a rock-house and aquatic plants. To have 
There are many feast-days here ; to-day is the feast of an aquarium one must have a few aquatic plants in the 
the Epiphany. A sister of my French teacher told me this water, to purify it. It is also advisable to buy a box of 
morning such a nice story about this day. I think I will fish-food; and, above all things, do not put in any worms; 
write it for you. It is a Russian legend that when the wise for if you do, they will make the water become impure, 
men were on their way with gifts for the child Jesus, they and the fish will die. There is another thing : Never fee<l 
passed the cottage of an old woman, who begged them to the fish more than three times a week. There are 
wait for her to tidy her rooms, and she would go with few silverfish in my .aquarium ; I did not put many in, 
them ; but they would not. .Vfter she had finished her because they die so easily ; and if you touch them they 
work she followed, but never overtook them. So she has are almost sure to die. If a boy of my age (ten) docs not 
been wandering over the world ever since, trying to find want to keep fish that die so easily, let liim buy a, say. 
the child Jesus; and this night every year she brings thirty-inch bowl; in this he can keep some very small 
gifts to sleeping children all over the world, hoping he bullheads and eels. Perhaps you want to keep turtles ; 

may be among them. 

Hallie H- 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am in the highest class in the 
Punahou Preparatory School. Punahou or Oahu Col- 
lege is the best school on the islands ; its graduates go to 

to do this one should get a large tin pan used for wa 
ing dishes. With turtles the water should be changed 
every other day. Turtles may be fed on flies and 
worms; but never buy them large (not larger than a 
twenty-five-cent piece), and never forget to let them be 
able to climb out of water. An aquarium is useful in 

the leading schools in America. Next year I am going this way : It will teach reckless boys to study the beautie 
to the college. I take arithmetic, grammar, history, Ha- of nature. I have learned the character of the eels, 
waiian geography, reading, spelling, penmanship, draw- Their chief trait is that they will sometimes lie motion- 
ing, and music. less for twenty-four hours. On the contrary, the gold- 

I have just formed a foot-ball team, in which I am fish or silverfish are (almost) always in motion ; at all 

center-rusher. We play by the .American intercollegiate hours you can sec them swimming around. For three 

rules. dollars one can buy a beautiful large aquarium, and for 

The boys of this city are very large for their age. They another dollar you can stock it with fish, plants, and a 

are strong and active, are good riders, and when sixteen rock-house. Alfred F. E . 

years old can stick on a bucking colt. 

Your reader, ALLAN J 

The Grange, Ashford, County 
WicKLow, Ireland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken your jolly maga- 
zine since 1885, and we like it awfully. We bathe twice 
every day in the summer, and like it very much ; we can 
swim and dive, and are quite at home in the water. We 

Aurora, III. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little American bov, 
eight years old. My kitty's name is " Major." My papa 
makes fun of him. Kitty comes up.stairs and pl.iys with 
me through the spindles on the side of my bed, in the 
morning. He pushes at the door, and if he can't get in 
he calls " Miew, miew." Then I say, •' Push, kitty ; push 
hard." Then he tries again, and gets in. 

I like your magazine very much. 

Yours truly, Dudley R. H . 


Balti.mori'., Ml). 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought .some of your con- 
gregation might like to know of a very nice sort of a 
party which we had the other clay. It is called a " Hunt- 
ingParty." About thirty-five children came. Wegotabout 
a hundred and fifty bundles, which we hid in every imagi- 
nable place. When the children came, mama gave them 
each a paper b,ag, such as grocers use to put their bun- 
dles in. We blew a horn and off they went to look for 
the things we had hidden. 

We gave a prize to the girl who got the most, and to 
the boy who got the most. It was great fun, as anyone 
who tries it will find. 

Your devoted reader, Julia J . 

U. S. Receiving Ship " Wabash," 
Navy Yard, Charleston, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I Hve on the receiving ship at 
Boston Navy Yard. It is lovely, for we see the ocean 
steamers come in. Every Sunday I see inspection. My 
papa is a naval officer. 

I have been sick and will not go to school for a long 
time. We have to go over to the yard in a scow, for the 
ship is anchored out from the land. It is pleasant to 
watch the marines drill at the barracks, in the yard. I 
am eleven years old. Good-by. Annie O'K . 

Manchester, England. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We are two friends, and we 
have taken you for a long lime, and like you very much. 

We do not live right in the town of Manchester, and 
not far from us there is lovely country. There are some 
very fine buildings in the town, especially the Town Hall, 
the clock of which you can hear striking more than four 
miles away ! We have also some very good concerts 
every winter, given by Sir Charles Halle. Nearly every- 
body here goes to hear them, and we sometimes go our- 
selves and enjoy them very much, as we are both very 
fond of music. We suppose that you are all going wild 
over Paderewski in the same way as we did when he was 
here, and we envy you very much hearing him. 

We very seldom have any skating, but last year there 
was a long and hard frost, and we enjoyed the unwonted 

We like reading the stories about England very much ; 
it is very interesting to hear what you Americans think 
about England. 

Wishing you continued success, we remain your inter- 
ested readers, M. S. and F. M. 

New York. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I like all your stories very 
much, but the ones I like the best are those about horses 
and their riders, as I love them, and have ridden all my 
life, and like anything about horses. 

I go to school in the country, and every afternoon that 
I can I go out in the pony-cart with an old pony which 
has been in the family about twelve years, and is about 
twenty years old. So you see we are very much attached 
to her, and would not part with her for anything. She 
seems to grow younger and go better every year. In 
the summer I have a saddle-horse, and have fine times 
riding with my friends. In winter it is too cold to ride 
in the country, but in the city it is very nice. 

I am your faithful reader, I. M. G. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We have a horse called "Billy." 
One day when he was in the stable he managed to get his 



halter off; the stable door was open, and he came out and 
started away down the street ; afterward he got running 
down the principal streets; we could not catch him be- 
cause every time that we would get near him he would kick 
up his legs and run; so we gave it up, knowing that he 
would come back. And at dinner-time he did come back 
and went into his stable. I suppose he wanted his din- 
ner, but he had to wait till tea-time before he got anything. 
I remain your interested reader, John K . 

Yonkers, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I received you this morning, 
and have just finished reading "The Letter-bo.\." 

I have been wanting to write to you for a long time, but 
have been unable to do so before, as I have been very 
ill for over three months, unable to move any part of my 
body except my hands and arms. 

Papa has given you to me, bound, for the last two 
Christmases, and this year he subscribed for you. Of 
course you can imagine how much I enjoy you, espe- 
cially now, when I am ill and unable to walk. You give 
me many pleasant moments, dear old St. Nick, and 
I hope I shall never have to part with you. When I am 
well I go to school. One of your many admirers, 

Dora S. H . 

MoNTREU.x, Switzerland. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little American girl, but 
am spending the winter in Montreux. I go to a French 
school, where only two other American girls go beside 

The people here speak all sorts of languages, and it is 
very ditficult to understand them sometimes. 

My cousin has a pretty httle puppy, about seven 
months old; his name is "liudge. " When he was about 
five months old, he learned to sit up in the corner and beg ; 
he docs several cunning little things ; if we hide the hand- 
kerchief or spool, and tell him to find it, he will go snuflT- 
ing about until he finds it, and sometimes he will hide 
it himself and make us find it. 

Montreux is on Lake Geneva, and we always have a 
lovely view of the lake. 

Your devoted reader, M. E. L. 

Kenilworth, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking your delight- 
ful magazine for seven years. I live on the old battle- 
field of Winchester, in a house built more than a hundred 
years ago, which was headquarters for both armies. I 
have often found relics of the war, among them a saber, 
bullets, and other things. 

I am twelve years old, I ride on horseback to Winches- 
ter to school every day. I ride five miles there and five 
back. I have two little brothers, Murroy and Neville. 
We have nice times together with our boat on the pond. 
Your loving reader. Jack S . 

Nice, France. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you what a lovely 
place we are in, where winter is summer, and where the 
flowers always bloom and the sun always shines. Here, in 
Nice, although in midwinter, the air is as deliciously soft 
and balmy as on an American June day. Our garden, 
which surrounds our chateau, situated on the hillside, com- 
manding a magnificent view, is full of tropical plants, 
jjalms, and .aloes, and is a constant delight. The eucalyp- 
tus-trees and century-plants tower upward, tall and stately, 
while the large orange-orchard stretches away to the left. 
We make a great number of excursions, and yesterday 



wc went to Cimiez to see the ruins of a Roman amphi- 
theater. I am dL-voted to the French people, and my 
hrother and I both know the lant;uage well. We have 
traveled a great deal in Europe — in England, Germany, 
Italy, Switzerland, and France. We know and love "la 
belle France " the best of all. We lived six months in 
Paris, and saw all its interesting sights, and mounted the 
Eiffel Tower. 

I enjoy your charming stories very much, but like best 
your tales of bygone times. 

Vour enthusiastic re.ider, GwKNDOl.YN D . 

Fort Sam Houston, Texas. 

Dear St. Nicholas : My father is an army officer, 
and has been stationed here five years. There are a great 
many nice children in the post, and a great many of us 
have ponies; so we have great fun ritling, which we do a 
great deal. My pony is named " Candy," and my sister's 
'• Verde." We also enjoy our hops, which we have every 
other Friday night. 

Hoping you will live a great many years more, I am 
ever your constant reader, Alice W. B . 

(A True Story.) 

Girls, did yon ever hear of a dolls' hospital ? Well, 
I am going to tell you about one. My sister Edith once 
had a very beautiful doll named " Rosy,"' and we were all 
very fond of her. She came to us in England, and had 
always been rather pale and delicate ; so while we were 
in Florence, Italy, we thought it might possibly benefit 
her to take a course of baths. 

One beautiful morning we took her out with us, and 
climbing the hill to the Piazzali di Michelangelo, where 
we were accustomed to play every day, we came to a 
beautiful fountain with a low, broad basin. This exactly 
suited our purpose. Undressing poor Rosy, her gentle 
little mother boldly plunged her into the water. We 
watched her gaily. After a while her mania said it was 
time to take her out of the bath ; so out Miss Rosy came. 
Oh, what a sight to behold ! Just imagine! Her hair 
was all coming out, her bones were out of joint, and her 
skin was peefing off. (Her skin was the kind which 
French dolls usually have — compressed paper.) We 
all set up a dismal howl, and rushed home to ask mama 
if anything could be done for the poor darling. Mama 
tried first of all to quiet and soothe Rosy's broken-hearted 
little mother, and then proceeded to examine the wreck. 
She made Rosy a nice little nightgown and cap, laid her 
in a little bed, and comforted us by telling us she hoped 
the poor creature would soon be better. Hut Rosy slill 
remained very ill, and never got any better, in spite of 
the tender care we all bestowed upon her. 

Finally we left Florence, and went to Venice ; but the 
change of climate did not benefit our dear invalid. From 
\'enice we went to the Lake of Como, where we stayed 
two months, and often took our darling out to row on the 
blue waters. Still there was no change for the better. 
Then we journeyed over the Alps, into Switzerland, 


where we spent the whole summer ; but the Swiss air 
seemed to have lost its virtue. Rosy was no better. 
At last, when winter was near at hand, we went to 
Wiesbaden, Germany. This is a very beautiful city, as 
you all know, and famous for its hot baths. Many inva- 
lids go there to be cured. We had been there only a 
short time when we met a kind lady who, hearing of 
Rosy's condition, told us that she knew of a dolls' hospi- 
tal, not very far from Wiesbaden, where oUl dolls were 
made young, and sick ones quite restored to health. 

After much thought and discussion, we at length de- 
cided to send our darling there. We bade her good-by 
with many tears and kisses, laid her in a narrow liox — 
how funereal it seemed ! — and sent her away. She had 
been gone only a few days when the winter rains began, 
and soon there were great floods throughout Germany. 

For many long weeks we did not hear one word from 
her. Every day we went down to the doll establishment 
from which she had been sent to inquire about her ; but all 
in vain. At last, however, our sad hearts were made very 
glad. One morning, going down on our daily errand, 
we found Miss Rosy had arrived, and was waiting im- 
patiently to see us. Oh, joy ! There she lay in a box, 
just as plump and rosy as she could be. Her long 
golden curls fell about her lovely face, and reached 
down to her waist. 

When we arrived at home and tried on her dresses, 
none of them would fit. Would you believe it ? She 
had grown a whole inch ! 

Mildred L. Cowles. 

Fairford, Ala. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for a great 
many years, and I like you very much. I am very much 
interested in the story " Tom Paulding. " I am ten years 
old, and I have three brothers and one sister. There is a 
large sawmill here, and my father is the superintendent 
of it. I am very fond of dogs. We have two setters at 
home, named " Doc " and " Tatum." Papa has a kennel, 
and he has twenty hounds. Leo, my brother, and I have 
a gun apiece, and we go out hunting every Saturday. I 
like to hunt very much. 

Yours sincerely, Ccrran Lamar S . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow fiir 
pleasant letters received from them : Edna W., Mary W., 
Julia B. H., Georgina G. R., Clara G. G., Laura V. K., 
Louise P. B., Leona B., Ethel F., Mabel B., Abbie F. P., 
H. T. W., Emily B , Arlie H., Beatrice F. M., Edith P. 
M., Agnes K. J., Paul V. R., Edna S. P., Mary M. W., 
Clara G. A., Harry W. L., Charlotte L. A., Blanche, 
Beulah McF., Lucien ^L, Ellenor D., Florence F., X. 
V. Z., Lucille M. C, Eloise C, C. Earl Fenner, Is.ibel 
R. D., Elsie S., Gertrude K., Ruth McN., Chris S. M., 
J. H. P., Jamie R. P., Paula H., Annie M. M., Kathe- 
rine D. Y., Lawrence B. E., Elizabeth C. G., Florence 
Adelaide F., Madelaine L., Katharine M. A., M. A^nes 
B., R. M. H.. Percy L. B., Minnie L. M., Emma C.'D., 
Laurence B., M. W. P., Lynn A., Lucille 1!., Minnie W., 
Bessie C, Virginia G., Edward B., Helen S. F., Nina S., 
Carl B., and G. M. 


[nitiuls. Easier; cci 
Abuse. 3- Songs. 

word.s: i. Easel, s. 
6. Royal. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, Raphael, i. 
, H 5. Bai. 6. Sleek. 7. Atility. 

Di.AGON.Ai.. America. Cross-words 
1. .-Vmenily. 4. Hearsay. 5. Imagine 
Centr.\l Acrostic. Centrals, Podsnappcry, 

ERB Puzzle. 

When April blows his horn, 
It is good for both hay and ( 

Slipper. 2. Colonel. 3. Gradual. 
I Fanatic. 7. Skipper. S. Grapnel. 9. Ben 
I. Playful. 

Connected Word-squ.ares. Upper .square : 
;. Ossa. 4. PeaL Lower square: I. Oast. 
. Tall. From 1 to 4, pastoral. 

Charade. 2. Blake. 3. Ope. 

I. Antique. 2. Emperor. 
6. Tobacco. 7. Miranda. 

)ss-words : 

5. Lemon. 
5. Roger. 

II. Across: 


r. 3. Tepor. 4. Na 
3. Ncwd, 4. Ren 


simulate, mutilates, stimulates. I. I. Lap. 2. Ma^-is. 
5. Pirated. 6. Sages. 7. Ned. II. i 
4. Elevate. 5. Abraded. 6. Oaten. 

lime, Selim, samiel, mailest. 

Already close by our summer dwelling 
The Easter sparrow repeats her song : 

A merry warbler, she chides the blossoms — 
The idle blossoms that sleep so long. 

The bluebird chants from the elm's long branches 

A hymn to welcome the budding year. 

The south wind wanders from field 10 forest. 

And softly whispers, "The spring is here." 

Word-squares. I. 1. Armada. 2. Raises. 3. Misses. ^ 

ume. 5. Deemer. 6. Assert. II. i. Albata. 2. Leaves. 3. 

ins. 4. Avowee. 5. Tenets. 6. Assess. 


3. Lateran. 4 
Lea. 2. Bilbo. 
,. Led. 


Nathaniel Hawtho 

Zigzag and Diagonal Zigzag. From i to 7, I.ycidas : 8 to 14, 
Thyrsis. Cross-words: i. Lethe. 2. Myths. 3. Vichy. 4. Fiery. 
5. Disme. 6. Vapid. 7. Basis. Diagonal. I^rom i to 6, Milton ; 
7 to 12, Arnold. Cross-words: t. Masked. 2. Dingle. 3. Eulogy. 
4. Sentry. 5. Dragon. 6. Aonian. 

should be addressed to St. Nicho 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the Fi 
'The Wise Five ••— Paul Reese —Josephii 
- L. O. E. — " To '• " 

liR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
s of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Number were received, before February 15th, from Maude E. Palmer — Two 
mod — E. M. G.— "The Peterkins ••— C. M, D— "Arthur Gride"— "The 
McG.'s"— Gertrude L.— L. O. E. —" Toodles"— Annie M. Bingham -Ed and Papa— Chester B. S. — Jo and I — Aunt Kate, Mama, 
and l.amie — Hubert L. Bingay—" Mid"— Edgar Darby — Marian F., Aunt Eva. and Lulu — Alice Mildred Blanke and Co- 
Ida, Alice, and Olive— No Name. N. Y. City — Mama and Franz — Stephen O. Hawkins — EfRe K. Talbnys — " Dodo and Doder"— 
The Spencers — Grace and Nannie — "May and '79"— "The Sewalls "— Ida Carleton Thallon—" Leather Stocking"— Florence A. 
Ciragg — Jessie Chapman — E. Kellogg Trowbridge — Blanche and Fred. 

•Answers to Puzzles in the February Number were received, before February 15th. from Elsie Burke, i — Susan L. Butler, i — 
S. A. Gardner, i — Bessie C, i- C. G., i — Carrie Chester, i — V. H. Berghaus, Jr., i — " Loma Doone." i — Lawrence Pumpellv, i — 
Eric P.almer, 2 — Bessie Wood. 2 — Grace I. Shirley, 1 — Elaine S., 5 — Marie Beredi, i— Alma Devlin, i— Wilfred and Helen Jor- 
dan, I — S. W. French, 2 — Eleanor Hurd, i —" Bubbles," 5- M. Beatrice Brien, i — Belle MacMahon, i— Annie McCluie, i — 
Shirley Lcnerd, 1— Addie and Esther Stone, i — Roberta C. , i — Gertrude Kerr, 2 — Wilkie Husted, 5 — Edna H., 2 — Roy Murchie. i— 
J. Schmitl, I — Walker G. McLaiiry, i — Henry Hunt, i — Elma and Alma DLxon, i— Naje Rheaton, 2 — Tracy R. Kelley, 5 — S. 
Lindsley, i — Elizabeth C. and Clara W^ Chambers, 3 — Eleanor Ogier. i — Clara Louise Green, 3 — Lily D. Barnwell, i — Mama and Har- 
old. 6— Marguerite H Sanderson, i — Ruth F. Graves, i — Ivy. i — Harry and Mama, 9 — Ella C. D., i— Howard Ford, i —"Jill," t — 
Lillian Adonis, 2— Nellie Archer, S — Daisy B. Allen, 2 — Flossie and Gussie, 10 — Isabel Wallace, 1— Caryl and Mamie. 2 — G.irdner 
Hendrie, i— Rae Russell. 2 — E. S. B., i — Amanda E. T., 11 — Floy L. Noleman. 1— Charles Munch, i — L. and F.., 4— "Ore- 
gon," 6— "Jack Spratt" and "Polly Flinders," 8— " Waiontha," 8— Marian Gray, 8— Nellie L. Howes. 9 — " We Giris," 11— Rosalie 
Bloomingdale, 11 — Millard Russell, 2— Hany Day Brigham, 10— "Myself," 1— Alma E. Rosenberg, 2— (JIadys M. Bucke, i — 
James Robertson Smith, ri — E. M., A. P. C, and S. W. A., 8 — Janet and Bertha, 10— " Somebody." 10— Mama and Charlie. 6 — 
"Only I." I — No Name, Louisville, 8 — Schuyler F. S., 2— Mama and M.irion, 4— " The Three Eldridgcs," 10- "Suse," 10— E. 
K., 3— Eunice MacMich.iel, i — Sam Harrison, i. 

leave to produce designs on metal or glass by means 
of acid. 6. Hehead to furnish for service, and leave a 
severe retort. 

The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous 
strategist. ".\ELis." 

D<)i;HLK Syil.VRKS. 


I. In a manner. 2. Belonging to a city. 3. To decline. 
4. A mythological being. 5. .Sluggish. K. K. I.. 


I. My initials and finals each name a planet. 
Cross-words : i. Metrical arrangement of language. 

2. Additional. 3. Saltpeter. 4. To overturn. 5. A 
cardinal point. 

II. My initials and finals each name a planet. 
Cross-words: I. .\ planet. 2. A large country. 3. .\ 

famous mountain of western Asia. 4. A city of the 
Bahama Islands. 5. One who exacts a very high rate 
of interest. 6. A river of England. "zt'AR." 


I. Behfad a person of distinction, and leave allied. 
2. Behead shaped like an egg, and leave empty. 3. He- 
head to pine, and leave grief. 4. Behead concise, and 
leave pertaining to the Celtic race in the highlands of 
Scotland. 5. Behead an old-fashioned kind of ship, and 

I. I. A Tropicm, tree. 2. Fragrance. 3. Influence. 
4. To reform. 5. Guards. 

I.NcniDKD Word-square : i. A gipsy. 2. To be 
indebted. 3. Mankind. 

II. I. To come to pass. 2. A wading bird. 3. .\ 
Turkish ruler. 4. To league. 5. To advert. 

Included Word-square: i. Hurried. 2. .An east- 
ern name. 3. The egg of any small insect. "XEI.IS. " 


I AM composed of ninety-five letters, and form a quota- 
tion from the writings of Thomas a Kempis. 

My 70-25-34-55 is a waiter. My 5-27-82 is a grain. 
My 62-15-37-18-11 is one of an ancient order of priests. 
My 3-66-75-93-88 is to drag. My 46-8-78-22-48 is 
averse. My 29-58-51-go is fancy. My 86-39-60-54-63 
is a weight of twelve grains. My 13-23-49-S4-68-41 
is troublesome. My 76-36-6-20 is the cheven. My 
57-80-94-81-21 is a feminine name. My 72-77-1-17-85 
is a quick puff of air or smoke. My 52-45-16-92-31-26 
isdougli before it is kneaded into loaves. My 4-43-35- 
2S-33-74 is secret. My 19-91-71-24 is an ancient city. 
My 64-53-67-30-69-47 is niggardly. My 2-56-40-10 is 
a season of the year. My 7-65 -5 0-6 1 -83-8 7 is another 
season ; my 12-9-44-38-89-32 is a third season, and my 
42-14-79-73-59-95 is a fourth. M. D. 

NoE ubsmean thos cassor a coydul ady 

Nac grintheb lal eht darer sanepex fo siske ; 
Eno vongil limes nac meak a yewar yaw 

A Ihap ot rasipaed. EVERETT E. R. 


Across : i. A pecuniary punishment or fine. 2. An 
interstice. 3. To attack. 4. A collection of four things. 
5. Conjectured. 6. Theperson to whom a bill of exchange 
is addressed. 

Downward: i. In castle. 2. A parent. 3. A period. 
4. A collection of boxes. 5. Drugged. 6. Exalted. 
7. One who airs. 8. A Buddhist priest in Tibet. 
9. Moisture. 10. A Latin prefix. 11. In castle. 


A WELL-KNOWN man of letters: 

Rapid, ugly ink Dr. 

diagonal puzzle. 

When the following words have been rightly guessed 
and placed one below another, the diagonals (beginning 
at the upper left-hand letter) will spell the name of a 
famous writer. 

Cross-words: i. Beats. 2. An invented story. 3. To 
fascinate. 4. Pressing into a narrow compass. 5. Trans- 
ports. 6. Artful. 7. Binds by contract or promise. 


Take one hundred and ten, one hundred and one, 
Five hundred and fifty, and when you have done 
Knock it all rato pi, and what have you there ? 
The end of a testament, added with care. 

J. w. Y. 

All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below 
another, the central letters will spell a faithful friend. 

Cross-words : i. Raises. 2. Pickle. 3. To shape. 

4. The European flounder. 5. Relish. 6. To allay. 

7. Endowed with utterance. 8. A respectful title given, 
in India, to Europeans of rank. 9. A machine for rais- 
ing .ind lowering heavy weights. 10. A species of pep- 
]ier. II. A crevice. 12. One of the hereditary classes 
nto which the Hindoos are divided. c. B. 


I. A vowel. 2. An article. 3. To annoy. 4. Profit. 

5. A small weight. 6. Ventilating. "]. Showering. 8. 
Educating. 9. Filtering. 10. Recoloring. 11. Curb- 
ing. "XELIS." 


When the following words have been rightly guessed, 
and placed one below another, in the order here given, 
one of the rows of letters, reading downward, will spell a 
kind of scraper. 

Cross-words (of equal length): i. Behind a ship. 
2. Pertaining to a horse. 3. Certain intricate musical com- 
positions. 4. A kind of fine pottery. 5. Soda ash. 

6. Not to recognize. 7. Loyalty. 8. The fireside. 

o. B. G. 

I. Advowsons. 2. Broiled. 3. To blaze. 4. Since. 
5. In summer. 6. To regard studiously. 7. Bundles. 

8. The first of each month in the ancient Roman calendar. 

9. To compel. 

The central letters, reading downward, will s]icll a 
musical instrument. M. T. M. 


>3 14 
15 16 

17 . iS 


From 3 to 6, a mathematical word meaning a quantity 
consisting of three terms ; from 7 to 8, strives ; from 10 
to II, a metal discovered by Miiller in 1782 ; from 11 to 
12, methods ; from 3 to 7, a book ; from 7 to 10, grace- 
ful ; from 6 to 8, a young woman; from 8 to 11, any 
fallacy designed to deceive ; from 6 to 9, meager ; from 
9 to 12, unwholesome ; from I to 4, iniquity ; from I to 2, 
to observe closely ; from 2 to 5, an edible root ; from 13 
to 15, a horned animal; from 13 to 14, to fool; from 
14 to l6, ay; from 15 to 16, a lady in Spenser's " Faery 
Queen"; from 17 to 19, a musical instrument; from 
17 to 18, a solemn promise ; from 18 to 20, to trill. 





Vol. XIX. 

JUNE, 1892. 

No. 8. 


By Bessie Chandlicr. 

Bobby Cameron came into the dining-room 
shyly, and sat down. His nose was swollen, 
and there was a raw, bruised place, about as big 
as a ten-cent piece, between his eyes. He did n't 
seem anxious to draw attention to these defects, 
and was unusually quiet. Presently his father 
put down his newspaper, and his glance fell 
upon hapless Bobby. 

" Robert," he said sternly, " what is the 
matter? " 

" I got hurt," muttered Bobby, with Jiis 
mouth full of oatmeal. 

" Got hurt ! I should say so ! I can see that 
for myself Hoiv did you get hurt ? " 

" I jumped off the oat-bin and struck my 
head against the pole of the carriage." 

" What possessed you to do that ? " 

" Well, a boy stumped me, and so — " 

"A boy did %uhat?" interrupted his father. 

" Stumped me," repeated Bobby, growing 
more and more embarrassed. 

Mr. Cameron looked at his wife. 

" What is he talking about, Jane ? " he said 

" What do you mean. Bobby ? " asked his 

Copyrighi, 1892, by Tiik Ceni 

mother gently. "What is it to ho stuinped by a 

" Why, it 's when a fellow says you can't do a 
thing and you say you can ; and then you 've 
got to do it, or else you 're stumped, and all 
the other fellows jeer at you. I 'm never 
stumped, — never! " 

" But, Bobby, if it is something perfcctlv im- 
possible ? " 

"Ah, if you think it 's like that, why, you can 
ask the fellow that stumps you to do it himself; 
and if he can't do it that lets you out. But if 
he does it, you 're bound to do it too. That 's 
a lead stump, when he does it first ; and it 's a 
dare stump when he says you can't do it, and 
you say you can. I never take a lead stump, 
and I have n't taken a dare stump this year." 
His father looked at him severely. 

"Well, I want you to understand, sir," he said, 
"that I 'm not going to have you jumping oft' 
from oat-bins, and breaking your nose against 
carriage-poles. I don't want to hear any more 
of stumjis, or such ridiculous performances!" 

Bobby did n't answer. He looked much de- 

IRV Co. All riglils reserved. 


After his father had left the table, his mother 
turned to him and said: 

" Now, Bobby, did you hear what papa said ? " 

" Yes," he answered impetuously, "but, Mama, 
I can't. I can't be stumped. I have n't been 
stumped this year." 

His mother looked at him thoughtfully. 

" We can't have you running such risks, dear. 


and hurting yourself, perhaps for life. Come up- 
stairs with me now, and I '11 put some plaster 
on your nose ; and you must try to be more 

Mr. Cameron was at his office, and Mrs. 
Cameron was in her own room, sewing, about 
the middle of the forenoon, when a little boy 
rushed in, breathless and excited. 

He was a neighbor's child and Bobby's 
dearest friend. He was so frightened that he 
was quite pale, and his freckles stood out in 
bold relief, like spatters of mud. 

"Oh, Mrs. Cameron!" he gasped, "come 
quick! Bobby 's got the door-knob in his mouth, 
and he can't get it out ! " 

"The what ? " she said, rising hurriedly. 

" The door-knob of the play-room. George 
Nelson stumped him to put it in his mouth, and 
Bobby tried and tried, and at last he did, and 
now he can't get his mouth off! " 

Mrs. Cameron hurried to the scene of the dis- 

aster. There stood poor Bobby, fastened to 
the door, his jaws opened to their utmost capa- 
city and clinched around the knob. They had 
just slipped over the smooth porcelain surface, 
and closed upon it. The knob seemed as firmly 
fastened in his mouth as one of his own teeth. 
It was nearly choking him, and the tears were 
streaming down his face. 

Several boys stood 
near, offering advice and 

" I say, Bobby," said 
one, " I 'm awfbl sorry I 
laughed at first, 'cause 
you looked so funny. I 
wish I 'd never stumped 
you now." 

His mother came near 
him. He cried afresh at 
the sight of her. He 
would have bawled, but 
the door-knob in his 
mouth prevented. 

" Can't you get it out, 
Bobby ? " she asked anx- 

He tried to shake his 

head, but being fastened 

immovably, he could only 

roll his eyes at her. It looked a little as if he 

must spend the rest of his life fastened on to 

that door. 

" Can't we unscrew the knob ? " suggested 
one of the boys. 

" What '11 he have to pull against then ? " 
objected another with scorn. 

This was true. Bobby with a door-knob in 
his mouth and nothing to pull it out by would 
certainly be in a worse fix than Bobby fastened 
to an entire door. 

His mother said nothing, but seemed to be 

" Go up to the desk in my room, Georgie," 
she said, " and bring me down that big ivory 
paper-cutter. Not the Htde one, but that big, 
flat, white one. Now, Bobby," she added, kiss- 
ing his forehead, as his mouth was otherwise 
engaged, " you must n't be frightened. If your 
mouth opened wide enough to get it in, we can 
get it out. Don't cry, and keep cool. One 


reason why you can't get it out is because you 
are nervous and frightened." 

When Georgie brought her the paper-cutter, 
she put it in the comer of Bobby's mouth, so 
that she could pry with it against his teeth, 
and then, taking his chin in her other hand, she 
told him to open his mouth as wide as he possi- 
bly could, and she would help him. 

After one or two unsuccessful trials, the knob 
slipped out, and Bobby was free. 

The first words he said were: " There, George 
Nelson, I did it after all." 

He spoke thickly, for his 
tongue was swollen and his 
jaws stiff. 

" Bobby," said his mother, 
" you must come into the 
house with me now " ; and 
they went in together, while 
the little group of boys 
disappeared, after examin- 
ing the door-knob carefully, 
as if it were full of unusual 

Half an hour afterward, 
Bobby was lying on the 
sofa in his mother's room. 
There was a handkerchief, 
wet with some arnica, 
under his chin, and he 
looked somewhat pale and 

His mother had some 
books in her lap. She 
looked at him lovingly, 
and passed her hand over 
his head once or twice be- 
fore she spoke. 

'■ Bobby," she said finally, 
" I 've been thinking about -c^ 
this stumping business of ~' ^ 

yours, and I 've concluded 
it 's one of the greatest - 

things in the world." "ther 

He looked at her in 
amazement. He had n't expected this. 

'• Yes," she said, " I don't think the world 
would ever have amounted to much, if it had n't 
been for the men who would n't be stumped." 

" Why, Mama ! " he said. 


'■It 's true, Bobby. All the great generals 
were just men who would n't let their enemies 
stump them. Christopher Columbus would n't 
be stumijcd, when he started to discover Amer- 
ica ; no, not by poverty nor by the jeers of all 
Spain, — not even when his sailors mutinied 
and wanted to kill him. George Washington 
would n't be stumped, nor General Grant, nor 
Napoleon, nor any of those men that you like 
to have me read to you about. .\11 the Arctic 
explorers, and the people who have gone into 


Africa, were men who would n't be stumped. 
Sometimes, Bobby, it is your life, and not ano- 
ther person, that stumps you. You want to 
do something, and it seems as if your life said 
to you, ' You can't.' But all the famous men, 



all the men who have succeeded, were men 
who turned around to their lives and faced 
them, and said, ' I cati.' " 

There was a little silence. Bobby was alert 
and interested. 

" I am going to read to you about two men 
who would n't be stumped. One was Win- 
stanley, who built the Eddystone lighthouse, 
and the other was our own Sheridan, who won 
the batde of Winchester. And then I want to 
read to you about the sinking of the ' Cumber- 
land,' and how she fired that last broadside, 
just as she was going down; I think that was so 

Bobby nestled contentedly on the sofa. He 
loved to hear his mother read poetry. He told 
her once it was "just like the dribbling rain on 
the garret roof." It seemed a queer compli- 
ment, but she understood it, and thanked him. 

He was very much interested that day, and 
his eyes were bright and shining when she had 

"Were those really all stumps. Mama?" he 
asked eagerly. 

" Yes, dear," she said, smiling, " I think they 
were ; and I want to read to you about some 
more — listen." 

She took up some newspaper cuttings, and 

" ' Mose Putnam yesterday jumped off the 
Brooklyn Bridge. He had wagered one thou- 
sand dollars that he could do it. The jump was 
made at 3.30 p. m. Putnam was knocked 
senseless on striking the water, and instantly 
sank. His friends were beneath the bridge in a 
boat, and one of them promptly jumped in 
after him and succeeded in bringing him to the 
surface, and he was taken at once to the hos- 
pital. He is still unconscious, and it is not 
thought that he will recover.' " 

Bobby looked a little uncomfortable as his 
mother read this. It did not strike him as a 
very noble deed. 

She read another : 

" ' There was a strange spectacle yesterday 
on Broadway, between Tenth and Twentieth 
streets. Mr. Harvey Johnson had laid a wager 
that he would wheel Mr. Sam Skeehan ten 
blocks on Broadway in a wheelbarrow, if Har- 
rison were elected; and yesterday he fulfilleil 

his promise. Quite a crowd followed him. 
Mr. Skeehan is reported as enjoying his ride 
exceedingly.' " 

"Oh, Mama, don't!" said Bobby softly. 

She smiled, but read on. 

" ' The contest between Mike Stevens and 
Paddy Hennessy as to who could eat the most 
oysters in a given time came oft" yesterday; and 
Hennessy, having disposed of three hundred 
and forty-five oysters in five minutes, was de- 
clared the winner.' " 

"Oh, Mama!" said Bobby again, "don't 
read any more like that. They seem so silly 
after those others." 

" Bobby," she said slowly, " nobody could 
have looked silher than you looked this morn- 
ing, fastened to that door-knob." 

Then they both laughed, but Bobby looked 
very much ashamed. 

"It isn't always brave not to be stumped, is 
it? " he said, after a pause. 

"No," she answered thouglitfully, "you see 
for yourself that it is n't." 

"But, Mama, how can you tell? How can 
I tell, — with the boys, you know?" 

" I was thinking of that," she said. " I don't 
quite know, dear. It will be hard to decide, 
but it seems to me that I would n't do a foolish 
thing just because I was stumped into it. It 's 
good to be strong and quick and fleet. It 's 
good to aim straight and to throw far. .MI 
stumps that make you run or jump or climb 
better I should say were worth taking, but not 
the foolish ones that only make you seem 
reckless and silly. Sam Patch, the jumper, 
was reckless, you know ; do you think he was 
brave ? " 

Bobby did n't answer ; he seemed to be 
thinking hard. 

"Do you think it would be sillv," he said, 
"to climb up on to]) of the cupola of the (lil- 
mans' barn?" 

" Certainly I do," she answered promptly. 
" Why ? " 

" 'Cause Joe Gilman stumped me to do it, 
and I was going to do that after the door-knob, 
you know; but I won't now." 

His mother leaned over and kissed him, and 
wiselv left to his own reflections the boy who 
would n't be stumjied. 


13v William Abbatt. 

How many of you have been inside a light- 
house? Some, of course, who live in seaports 
or in towns on the Great Lakes; but how about 
the boys and girls who live where there is no 
navigable water, and so ships and steamboats 
never come? Perhaps there are some people, 
too, who live near lighthouses but have never 
been inside of them ; just as a young man from 
Philadelphia told me, this past summer, that 
though he had traveled a good deal in our own 
country, he had never been inside of either 
Girard College or the Mint in his own city ! 

Lighthouses, the dictionary says, are "towers 
or buildings with a powerful light at top, erected 
to serve as a guide to sailors." The earliest 
were built long, long ago. The oldest, probably, 
about which we know anything, was the Pharos 
(which is Greek for lighthouse) of Alexandria, in 
Egypt. It was one of the "seven wonders of 
the world." It was built about 285 b. c. As 
the world grew older and men grew wiser, 
more and better lighthouses were built, until 
now there are eight hundred in use in the 
United States alone. The first was erected on 
Little Brewster Island, at the entrance to Bos- 
ton harbor, in 17 16. Some are very large, some 
quite small, being a mere framework of heavy 
posts just big enough to hold the lantern. Such 

are generally placed close to the water's edge, 
beside narrow channels, such as the entrance 
to Long Island Sound (the passage commonly 
called Hell Gate) at New York City. 

Perhaps in size most of them are like that 
I visited last summer on Long Island Sound. 
It was built of brick, painted white outside and 
inside (as they usually are), and sixty feet high. 
Its shape was the first thing about it that looked 
queer, but you know the bees make the honey- 
cells six-sided, and .scientific men tell us six- 
sided things have waste room in them than 
square or round ones. So probably the (Gov- 
ernment Lighthouse Board was right in build- 
ing it so, though to be sure many lighthouses 
are round. Most round ones are of iron. 

The keeper lived in a nice brick house close 
to the tower, and also painted white. Unlock- 
ing the tower door, we began to climb the iron 
stair which winds round and round inside until 
your head swims. It was very dark (I don't 
remember any windows there). Up and up we 
went, quite slowly, the keeper leading. I .saw 
him lim]), and, when we sto])])ed a moment for 
breath, I had a talk with him and found he was 
a Union veteran, one f>f the Eighth Connecticut, 
and had been wounded at .Xntietam. Up we 
went until the stairs seemed to run right up 




against the ceiling ; but the keeper pushed a bolt 
aside, stepped up one more step, and a flood of 
light came down upon us. He had opened an 
iron trap-door, and we went up through the 
opening. It was a tight fit, I tell you. I don't 
think it could have been more than eighteen 
inches square, and I could just .squeeze through. 
I guess no ladies ever go up that hghthouse ! 

There we were at last, on the top, close to 
the lantern. I can't describe it scientifically, 
but it was a beauty. All of brass and thick 
plate glass, both wonderfully polished. In the 
center was the lamp, which holds two quarts 
of kerosene oil ; but the light uses nearly four 
quarts every night, between sunset and sunrise. 
So, each night, at about midnight, the second 
lamp full of oil has to be set in place. Think 
of that, boys! Every night in the year, at mid- 
night, that keeper has to get out of a warm bed, 
climb the long stairs, and change the lamp. It 
may be a cold winter night, the thermometer 
below zero, with a furious gale shaking the 
tower and driving the spray clear over the top. 
No matter ; the lamp must be changed. Many 
lives on some passing vessel may depend upon 
that light's shining brightly at that particular 
time, and duty must be done at all times, if this 
world of ours is to be worth living in at all. I 
asked if he had any family to help him. " Yes, 
I have a son and daughter, and either will go 
up at night if I wish, but I like to do things my- 
self generally, then I know they 're well done." 
And just then I remembered the words that 
Longfellow makes Miles Standish use, " If you 
wish a thing well done, you must do it your- 
self, you must not leave it to others." 

The lantern stands about two and a half feet 
high, on an iron pedestal as high, and has a 
clock-work attachment, run by a heavy weight, 
which hangs half-way down the tower, in a 
groove in the wall. The keeper puts in a big 
key and turns it once or twice. " Now watch," 
he says ; and then slowly, very slowly, the whole 
lantern begins to move. " It turns around once 
in three minutes," he says, " and shows a flash 
each side for a quarter of a minute, once every 
half-minute. At that point to the southeast it 
shows red through that red pane there. 'I'hat 's 
what we call the red sector." 

" Why does it ? " 

" There 's a dangerous slionl in that direction." 

So now you will know what a "sector" is in 
a lighthouse. 

There is room to walk around the lantern, 
but a man six feet high would have only two 
inches space above his tall hat ! The sides of 
the tower here are thick panes of beautifully 
clear glass, almost half an inch thick ; yet some- 
times they are broken. By what, do you think? 
Why, by wild ducks and geese flying against 
them, dazzled by the light! Think of opening 
your back door in the early morning and find- 
ing a nice fat wild duck or two lying there 
dead (for the shock always kills them), ready 
for your breakfast. How extremely conve- 
nient, — if only one did not have to live in a 
lighthouse in order to get the duck ! Most of 
us, I think, would prefer going to market for 
ducks, just as ordinary people must. 

" One night last spring," says the keeper, " I 
saw a big white thing come bang against the 
glass and fall on the gallery." I forgot to say 
that a narrow gallery, with a railing, extends 
round the tower top, outside. " I opened this 
door," showing a little low iron door which I 
had not noticed, " and got it. It was quite dead ; 
a sort of bird I had never seen before, very 
handsome. I thought it might be a rare one, 
so I just wrapped it up and sent it by express 
to the Smithsonian Institution at Washington for 
their collection. A while afterward I got a very 
nice letter about it, saying it was an Arctic owl 
and very rare so far south as this ; in fact, only 
seen once before in fifty years. I 'd like to go 
to Washington and see it there, stuffed ; but I 
have n't been to Washington since I left the 
hospital there, about Christmas of 1862, and 
came back home, disabled." 

The little room in which we are is very hot ; 
the big panes of glass around it cannot be 
opened, and though there is a thick yellow 
shade to each one, I am almost faint with the 

So we go down again, through the little trap- 
door, into the dark tube of the tower, where our 
footfalls and voices ring hollow on the iron 
stairs and the cold white walls. How cool and 
refreshing it is after the stifling little top room ! 
Down and around we go, till once more the 
bottom is reached and we step outside on the 



grass again. To the 
west, north, and south 
is the broad expanse of 
Long Island Sound, 
dotted with sailing ves- 
sels of all sorts and sizes, 
and from the south is 
coming up a big white 
steamboat. The sun 
will set in half an hour, 
and then the lantern 
must be lighted. The 
rules of the Lighthouse 
Board at Washington 
are very clear on this 
point. " Light it at 
sunset, put it out at sun- 
rise," they say, in effect. 
No matter what the 
weather, — hot or cold, 
rain, wind, snow, sleet, 
ice all over, or the ther- 
mometer hot enough to 
scorch you, — the light 
must be lighted and be 
extinguished regularly. 
" How many years have 
you been here ? " I 
ask the keeper. " I was 
appointed in 1863." So 
for hventy-nine years this 
man has kept the Hght 
burning in this tower — 
a lonely spot in winter, seven miles from the 
railroad on one side, two miles and a half of 
water in front of him on the other side, north 
and south nothing but water as far as the eye 
can reach. How many lives during those long 
years may have depended on his faithful doing 
of his duty, day by day ! Does he have any- 
thing to read ? Yes, he shows me a box of 
books, twenty-five or so, and says twice a year 
he gets a change, when the Government steamer 
brings a box and takes away the old one, to he 
sent to some other lighthouse. 

I shake hands with him, and go away. Reach- 
ing the road, I turn and look back. As I do 
so, a light shines out from the tower, and by 
that I know my friend has once more lighted 

the lantern, one more time in the twenty-nine 
years of work. How many more like him there 
are at this moment, tending their lanterns all 
along the coast from Maine to Florida, each 
a plain man, unknown to fame, just doing his 
duty in a quiet, monotonous existence ! But do 
you know, boys and girls, I often think of them, 
and particularly of this one 1 met, with a great 
deal of respect ? They are not distinguished or 
learned men, but they are men who are faith- 
ful to their trust, men on whom a great deal 
depends, and who are doing well their duty. 
And, as Mr. Whittier has said of steadfast 
Abraham Davenport : 

Simple duty liath no place for fear. 

By Tudor Jenks. 

Within Fort Xalabania 

Played Yusef, the throne's heir, 

At chess with the Alcayde, 

Who held him prisoner there. 

They leaned on silken cushions 

Broidered with golden thread, 

And warred in mimic battle, 

\\'hile not a word was said ; 

Until the flushed Alcayde 

A moment scanned the board. 

Then cried, " Your king 's beleaguered ; 

The game is mine, my lord ! " 

But Yusef, shrewdly smiling, 

Declared, " 'T is not yet won — 

The game is never over 

Until tlie ])lay is done." 

" But see, there 's no escaping," 

Replied the Alcayde then ; 
" You 've lost a rook, a knight, a pawn. 

And now a rook again ! " 

Low laughed the shrewd Alcayde, 

And moved his valiant queen. 
" A mate," he cried, " in three more moves, 

Whate'er may intervene ! " 

Just then a messenger arrived 

In haste, and from the King. 
" Read, read, my lord Alcayde, 

For tidings sore I bring ! " 

He seized the royal mandate. 

And broke the scarlet seal. 

He read and paled with horror. 

Nor could his grief conceal. 


■ Oh, wcU-beloved Yusef," 

He gasped, " put by thy chess ! 
For here are cruel words indeed. 
Of deepest bitterness ! " 
• Nay, nay ! " spake kindly Yusef, 

■ Let mc tliv trouble share. 

It ran: "High-born Alcayde, 
When this thy warrant 's read, 
Slay mc my brother Yusef. 
And send the traitor's head." 
Then turning to the messenger, 
Said Yusef: " I must die. 



The things that never happen 
The hardest are to bear ! 
The King has sent his warrant 
To slay me ? Be it so. 
Come, let me see the letter, 
That I the worst may know." 

I ask but ]iroper respite 
To bid my friends good-by." 
' Delay," the messenger replied, 
' Lies not within my power. 
I can but do the King's commant 
You die williin tlie hour ! " 



' 'T is well," said tranquil Yusef. 
' Until the hour is done 

The time is mine. On with the game, 

Till it be lost or won." 

But now the poor Alcayde 

In vain his skill he tries. 

He cannot see the pieces, 

For tears so dim his eyes. 
' Checkmate ! " at last cries Yusef. 

And when before the headsman 
The youthful Prince was placed. 
Behold ! another messenger 
Came riding in hot haste. 
'Put by the sword! and Iiarkcn 
Unto the news I bring : 
The King Muhammad is no more! 
Long live Yusef, our King ! " 
Up sprang the smiling Yusef, 



' Although 't was well begun, 
The game is never over 
Until the play is done!" 

' Alas ! " sighed the Alcayde, 
' I fear our games are o'er ! " 
' Hope on," said Yusef calmly, 
' There are five minutes more.' 


While all his courtiers bow. 
' And am I king ? " he gravely asks. 
'What says the Alcayde now? 

Alcayde ! night ne'er cometh 

Before the set of sun : 

The game is never over 

Until the ]ilay is done ! " 



Then rode they to Grenada, 
O'er ways all flower-spread, — 
A cavalcade of banners, 
Kin" Yusef at its head. 

" Ah ! " said the sly Alcayde, 
"Your reign has well begun; 
But still — the game 's not over 
Until the play is done ! " 


By Adhiine CI. 1'f.rrv. 

I SHOULD like to tell you about a visit we 
have just received from Helen Keller, the lit- 
tle blind girl and deaf-mute. You, doubtless, 
know something of her story* — how, when she 
was eighteen months old, she was very, very ill, 
and when at last the slow recovery came, her 

parents were horrified to find that she had be- 
come perfectly deaf and also blind. For nearly 
seven years these poor parents had no means 
of communication with their little girl or she 
with them. When Helen was seven, five years 
ago, Mr. Keller wrote to the Perkins Institute 

* See St. Nicholas for September, i8 


for the Blind, in Boston, asking that a teacher 
might be sent to them in northern Alabama. 
Miss Sullivan, who at one time had been per- 
fectly blind, and who had taken the course at 
the Institute, was sent to the Kellers, and re- 
mained for two years, teaching Helen and her 
family how to communicate with one another 
by means of the manual for the deaf and dumb. 

It was then deemed best for Helen to go to 
the Institute, since she could advance more 
rapidly there. She has now been there three 
years, under the charge of Miss Sullivan the 
entire time. 

Once a year she goes home to Alabama for 
a visit, always accompanied by her dear friend 
and teacher. 

When our [irinciiKil informed us of Helen's 
prospective visit, we all were pleased ; but still 
the thought came that it would be very difficult 
to talk with her, and also a pitiful and rather 
trying experience to see a person in such a sad 
condition. We are now very thankful that the 
opportunity was given us to meet this wonder- 
ful child. 

Helen came one afternoon with Miss Sulli- 
van and Miss Marrett, another teacher in the 
school, and also one of our graduates. 

In the evening the students were all invited 
into the drawing-room to meet the visitors and 
to see what wonders have been done for this 
once helpless child. She stood with her arm 
about Miss Sullivan's neck, a tall child for her 
age, with a very bright and smiling face. 

As the different girls came up to meet her, 
Miss Sullivan repeated their names to Helen 
by means of the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, and 
Helen spoke to them. 

You ask how can that be ? 

One of the most marvelous things of all is, 
that she has learned to articulate. Think of it ! 
She has never heard a human voice in her life. 
Of course, her articulation is very imperfect; 
but when she speaks slowly, one can under- 
stand (luitc- well what she say.s. Her teachers 
think that in a year or two her utterance will 
be perfectly distinct. Her voice is necessarily 
peculiar, and listening to its monotonous tones, 
one can better appreciate how important hear- 
ing is to modulation and expression. 

About thirty girls were introduced to her. 



for each of whom she had a pleasant word. I 
think in no one case did she forget a name. 

She felt of the faces, hair, and dress, learning 
each feature, while every personal jjeculiarity 
seemed firmly fixed in her mind. 

Some of the girls told her they had recently 
been to Concord and Lexington, whereupon 
Helen began to describe her visit there. She 
spoke of the hills about Concord looking like 
"beautiful clouds " ; and said that the " bending 
trees were there, the folding ferns among the 
grass, and the fairies and wood-elves whispering 
among the violets." 

She said she visited the Alcotts' house, and 
could well imagine " Jo, sitting by the window, 
writing ; Amy, near by, drawing ; and sweet 
Beth sewing; while Meg and Mr. Brooke were 
merrily chatting together." 

Some one mentioned " The Minute-Man," 
Mr. French's statue, marking the famous battle- 
ground at Concord; and Helen cried eagerly, 
" Yes ! and ' fired the shot heard round the 
world ! ' " quoting from Emerson's beautiful 
ode, the first lines of which have been inscribed 
upon the pedestal of the statue : 

By the ruile bridge that arched the flood. 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world I 

Soon she added, " Is n't it dreadful for men 
to kill each other ? But I think it is good not 
to be afraid of death, and to be ready to fight 
for one's country. My father would n't be 
afraid to die; he fought in the Rebellion." 

Helen is a rather pretty child, and has perfect 
manners. She is very affectionate, and seems 
devotedly attached to Miss Sullivan. Every 
few minutes she would caress her, with a loving 
smile ; and she seems to have a similar affection 
for all her friends. She has great tact, and has 
that innate refinement of word and action which 
it is so delightful to see. 

She has been doing a beautiful work of char- 
ity. She owned a fine mastiff" last winter, which 
died, and the loss made her quite sad. Some 
friends raised three hundred dollars, and sent it 
to her as a gift with which to buy another dog. 
In the mean time Helen heard of a boy, five 
years old. Tommy Strenger, who also was blind 


and deaf. Her tender sympathy was aroused, 
and she immediately decided to use her money 
for Tommy's needs. But the yearly expense 
for one person at the Institute is more than 
twice as much money as Helen had. Quite 
confident of success, the little girl wrote letters 
to nine newspapers, each differently expressed, 
stating Tommy's needs. As a consequence many 
subscriptions were sent to Helen, and Tommy 
has now been an inmate of the asylum for a 
year or more. 

In telling us of Tommy, she said, " When he 
was a little baby, his dear mama died and then 
he was sick, and the light went out of his eyes, 
and the hearing from his ears. Now he has 
come to be educated. And by and by," she 
added, " when he knows more words, he will 
understand what a wonderful thing language is, 
and how education lirings music and love to 
body and soul." It is difficult to realize that 
such words are from the Hps of a child not then 
twelve years old. 

The next morning Helen was taken up into 
the cast-room. She was led first to the cast of 
Niobe, and allowed to pass her fingers over the 
face. She knows a few pieces of sculpture, but 
this was quite new to her, and she had never 
heard the pitiful story of the poor mother 
robbed of her little ones. 

Passing her hands softly over the features, 
she said, " She is a woman " ; and then, quite 
low, " She looks sad." The young Nero's bust 
was shown, and she said, " He is young and 

" Do you know anything about Nero ? " asked 
one of the girls. " Oh, yes," she replied quickly. 
" He was a king of Rome." After this the head 
of Nero as an old man was shown her. She 
looked grave while touching his face, and said 
slowly, " He is changed. The nose is the same, 
but he is so proud," and she pursed up her lips 
in imitation of his. 

A little baby's image pleased her very much, 
and she murmured softly to herself while ca- 
ressing the round face and chubby limbs ; then, 
looking up with a sweet smile, repeated some 
verses describing a child. 

Dante's cast interested her exceedingly. She 
did not know anything about him, except that 
he was a poet. When she was told that he was 


a patriot, exiled from home and a wanderer for 
many years, she said thoughtfully, " He loved 
Italy." We next took her into the art-room, and 
showed her some of the articles used for studies 
in still-life. 

She was especially pleased with an old spin- 
ning-wheel ; and the instant her fingers touched 
the flax, she cried, " Flax ! It is blue ! " Her 
teacher hastened to tell her that it is only the 
flower that is blue, and that flax itself is white. 
Helen quickly began: 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax. 
Her cheeks like the dawn of clay. 

" Yes," said Miss Sullivan ; " the poet referred 
to the flowers." 

She was delighted with a tambourine, and 
wished to know how it was used. She was sorry 
to lay it aside. Of course she cannot hear a 
sound from musical instruments, but the vibra- 
tions please her wonderfully, and she is very 
fond of music. One of the girls played to her 
upon the piano, and it was a pretty sight to 
watch the changes of light in her face. She 
could scarcely keep quiet to listen; and when 
the " Skirt Dance " was played her hands and 
feet kept time constantly to the music. She af- 
terward sat down herself and played a simple 
exercise which she had learned. 

She held quite a little reception later in tlie 
day, and many people from town came in to 
see her — professors and their wives, and many 
children of her own age. Helen asked the latter 
such pointed questions that they were often at a 
loss to reply, and appealed to their mothers for 
help. To one little boy she said, " What is your 
favorite city ? " The litde boy looked perplexed, 
and finally, anxious to make a reply, said. " Bos- 
ton." " Mine are Venice and Florence," said 
Helen, "among those I have read of. My own 
home I love best of all." When Professor Coy 
was introduced, she remarked naively, " I have 
heard of coy maidens, but not of men." With 
a French gentleman she spoke a few words in 
French, and then added, " I think Paris is one 
of the most beautiful cities in the world. The 
French are very gay, are they not ? " " Yes, 
too gay sometimes," he replied. " Oh," she 
said, "some day I want to know French." "We 
will speak it together the next time we meet," 


he answered as he shook hands 
J3£Q.^T.54.1'litkoLa.i- '^"th her, and she smiled a 


bright reply. 

Thus, for each one she had 

Jt: DL-i^tS -nxt ""^tjuTj Q^i.£a_1: 

Llta&-u.H.t to St-rx-d -uo-u. ■m.-u a.-u. t o a fi eu kL some cordial word of greeting. 

1 1 q . J| I I J J • 1 " My favorite study is geo- 

li-UOL-ULit J -TirQ--n.t -tkt ^o-^i am.a ^'•^■'■' graphy," she remarked, " be- 

■utIlo ^IolJ 54.1/ltcK.oLa.i Iro k-n.mxr Lo-iix «i'se then I can learn all 

U. 1 I I . . 7 1 1 about the world and its dif- 

iTT.<i ckiLc})vt-n. wfi.ftt. J S-u.|ukoit SoTTut ferent countries." 

oF tktTTL -ULPO-TLdtJi. ka-uJ- -urt Ktt i. tkt (i-n.tS Some one gave her a •' Jack- 

I I 9'lll illiL L in-the-pulpit," and intjuired, 

St)xa..^kt So J -art LI tjL-i| tc ttLL ikt-r,^h.oxu- ,, ^^^^ j^^ preach?" "Oh, 

(.t li do-n-t. We h.a.-vt a. n^LonvLd Uoa^d yes," she answered. "He 

LI I I I I 1 I I preaches to all the other 

(.ck-LU-i k-u-t Irit-uj-U-n. tkt |i.a.q W urktn flowers, but he is not so large 

-xirt -LU-tiL to -uJ-JvL^rt. JLl k o-jt-o-IL t L ajLOO-irfS as dear Dr. Brooks "—refer- 

. I . 1 1 I" "'^8 "^^ Phillips Brooks, who 

co'jL}>.e5|xo-n.c} to Li-n.ti a-n.d -urkl-n. iirt kt-vt j^ ^ne of her stanch friends. 

U-JvtiStc) -tkt ktknv C-n-U tkt-rn. Ipti "Yes, I love to play," she 

W \ 1 1 . ' 1 f i\ \ \ • I replied to a question from a 

tfl \:kt lrL-u.-Tx-t t-rvd oT tkt |».L-n.uL tt Ci -vtjvij ijttie girl; "but I like best 

La-S-u U kttk Ikt -uj-otuii L-%rt-n..clkt i-Tn.o.lL to study; and I love poetry. 

j . I J 11 I • 1 1 Who is your favorite poet ? 

LettijvS o-Ki a-LL >TrLa.dt i-n. \h.i. ^koo-vLi, Mine is Holmes." Mr. Holmes 

■urLilt tkt lo-Tva otvIS tV-U-nd o-lroirt a.-n.(l is a personal friend of hers, 

11 ,\ -inl- • I i\ 1 1 il ^^^ ^^e also knows Mr. 

IriLo-u/ tkt-m. UUt ^-u-udl tkt kt-TctiL -uTLtk Whittier and has visited him. 

4ktKvqk4 kcLTxd om-d Fttl CoujutF-u-Ll-u -u^ak Helen's is a poetical nature, 

I'rJr. 'r\ ICI i" ^"*^ ^i'^^ '^^r strong imagi- 

i-kt lolvt UTn.oi.{u oltkl UR kom.!) to Ut ^^tion and quick mind her 

tkou-^r -Lu-L sko-kt CL-n.d sko-Ct tkt (.tUiji-i language is often beautiful 

I 1 ' q I I " f f • I I If- I '"^'^ '"^' '^^ pretty metaphors 

C0)x)..tctl-u- Jt Lb -^t^TJ dvril.CTl.H-Q.-t rtJvSt .^nH.imiles 

to fo|i.-rT,. tkt-m. k.La.L-n.L-Tj Iriit 1 1 -uj- t Klik 

. , I , M d I , • , , Tommy, which delighted her 
o-ru th.-ui-n.q it qyvQ-d-ULO-LL-u IrLLo-TTvlS to-Slth., 

and similes. 

A purse was made up for 
I I I 1 - I r f iOmmy, wh 

a.T«.d o-lttji. u. ajtta-t dtculai kji-attLCt "^ i- In the afternoon we all 

• I M - I \ I » L I L L ._ F.. • 1 it gathered in the chapel, and 

r^i.Ut Uollrlt Li.l:k|L> to OM.|v iKil-n-ii ,^^^^ 

jkt-n. -uft Q.\\.l -u-tl^-u ,-Vt^TJ something about the system 

.1 " Lltl-L» °'^ teaching in the asylum. 

tu-TTv.1 tkt^j -m.ixruL vLiCt a- Stktto L lotu **^^ In speaking of the library, she 

IrltT^eJ jt ^kt-u do DoL-m. i-u.^t,4kfcu -uj-lLI alluded to Dickens's works. 

. \ . .Ji ill "Li: Helen, reading the words by 

■urisk to itfc tki ju-u-k.LS \u-Mtt. the medium of Miss Sullivan's 

l/th.-TJ iL-n,tt]LtLTi -uooLh. Lvctlt IJi-ttiuo fingers, bent forward eagerly 

J J " .... and asked, "How does 

Utltn. Klllt^. Dickens write?" 

IS writ( 
None of us could say, and 

■89-1 A \ ISI I FROM ni:i.EN KKLI.KR. 577 

after a lew moments' waiting slie told us, her beautiful world, and his goodness is written all 

tace aglow with fun, "All of er Twist!" over the walls of nature. I hope, when you 

When Miss Marrett finished, Helen told Miss come to Boston, you will come to our school 

Sullivan, " I would like to speak to the young and see us there, and meet Tommy. We shall 

ladies." She was led to the desk, and spoke be very glad to see you. Good-by." 

with self-possession somewhat like this : It was inexpressibly touching to sue the little 

" Dear friends of Andover, I want to thank 
you for my plea.sant visit here, which 1 shall 
never forget ; and my mother will be so very 
happy when she hears how kind you have been 
to me. Thank you, too, so much, for your kind 
gift to Tommy ; he will be so glad. I think 
our kind Heavenly Father has given us a 
Vol. XIX.— 37. 

blind girl, to hear her .simple words. She had 
never seen this " beautiful world," and yet found 
so much in it to love and to enjoy. 

Though we had always thought of little Helen 
wn"th the greatest pity, w-e shall ever remember 
her as one of the happiest and most blessed 
of children. 


By Lieut. R. H. Fletcher. 

yBegiiH ill llti- J, 1 Hilary number.] 

Chapter XIII. 

"Mildred, are you ready, dear?" said her 
mother, coming into her room with her bon- 
net on. 

The night of the party had arrived, and Mil- 
dred, attended by Ehza, stood in front of the 
mirror, looking at herself. 

" Come now, Httle Miss Vanity," continued 
her mother, smihng, as she turned Mildred away 
from the glass, " let me see." 

And Mildred, drawing back a little, laughed 
and blushed, and said, " Am I all right, 
Mama ? " 

" Yes," said her mother, putting her hand 
under Mildred's chin to raise the bright little 
face ; " I think that you will do." 

" She looks real cute, Mis' Fairleigh, don't 
she ? " said Eliza, standing back to get a good 
view of the result of her work. 

And indeed Mildred did look " cute." She 
wore a gown made of some soft, flowered ma- 
terial, very short-waisted and falling straight to 
her feet ; short, puffed sleeves on the shoulders 
showed her dimpled arms, while a snowy lawn 
kerchief was folded across her breast. On her 
feet were red-heeled sandal slippers with the 
silk ties crisscrossed over her gold-clocked 
stockings, and on her head was a cap of white 
muslin with an edge of dainty lace framing her 
dark curly hair and pretty face. While her 
mother and Eliza were looking at her, a slow, 
heavy step was heard on the stairs, and a 
familiar voice said, " Can I come in, honey ? " 

" Yes, come in," cried Mildred. 

Then Amanda appeared, very much out of 
breath from having climbed the stairs to see her 
favorite dressed for " play-actin'." " G'way f 'om 
yere, chile ! " she exclaimed, settling her spec- 
tacles as she looked at Mildred's quaint little 
figure. And throwing out her hands, she con- 

tinued, " Um, um ! Ef you ain' de livin' im- 
age o' dat pictur' down-sta'rs, I 's a sinner ! 
How come you make yo'self look like dat ? 
I don' know, though ; you look a heap hke yo' 
ma, too, when she was a li'l' gell. Ain' dat so, 
Miss Mary ? " 

" Do I, Mama ? " said Mildred. 

" Yes, perhaps you do, a little bit," said her 
mother, with a sweet, grave smile that some- 
times came into her face, as if her thoughts 
were half pleasant and half sad, and altogether 
far away. 

" I 'm so glad," said Mildred. 

"Are you, dear?" rephed her mother. " Come, 
now, it is time for us to go." 

And, followed by the admiring servants, Mil- 
dred accompanied her mother down-stairs to the 
library, where her father was reading. 

Major Fairleigh was not going with them, be- 
cause he was not well enough to go out at night. 
In fact, Mildred's papa had been ill more than 
usual lately, and was looking far from well these 
days. His closely cut brown hair w^as turning 
gray at the temples, as was his curling brown 
mustache and pointed beard. His face was thin 
and pale ; and whenever he arose from his chair 
he had to be assisted, and his crutches must be 
handed to him. In spite of all this, however. 
Major Fairleigh was still a distinguished-looking 

Before she entered the parlor Mildred whis- 
pered playfully to her mother, " Let me knock 
at the door." And when in answer to the knock 
her father replied, " Come in ! " Mildred went in 
very softly until she got in front of him, and 
then as he looked up she took her dress in each 
hand and made him a very deep, old-fashioned 

"Well, upon my word ! " said her father, jiut- 
ting a paper-knife in his book and laying it 
upon the table beside him. " So it is you, is it, 
little Grandmama?" 



And Mildred laughed, and came and stood 
at his knees to be inspected. 

'• I wish you were going with us, Papa," she 

'• I wish so too," said her father; " I should 
like to see the play. But as I can't, you will 
have to tell me all about it when you come 

Then Eliza came to the door to say that the 
carriage was waiting. This was a hired vehicle, 
the driver of which was Eliza's husband. And 
as he stood there in the light of his own flash- 
ing lamps, it was evident that Eliza's husband 
had put on his best hat with a cockade on it, and 
his coachman's overcoat with its half dozen 
capes, to do honor to the occasion. As the 
door banged to, and they started off in fine 
style, Mildred wished that Leslie's house might 
have been farther away, it was so pleasant to be 
rumbling along the streets at night in a carriage. 
But in a few moments they had stopped, the 
door was opened, there was a little run up the 
steps, a glare of light, a rush of warm, perfumed 
air, the sound of many young voices, and then, 
following a .servant through the hallway, Mildred 
presently found herself in an up-stairs room 
where they were to leave their wraps. 

Here Leslie instantly joined them, in great 
excitement. " Oh, Dreddy," she exclaimed, 
" I 'm so glad you 've come. I was S(> afraid 
you might be late ! " And then, as the maid 
removed Mildred's cloak, she cried, "Oh, my! 
How lovely you look ! How do you think I 
look ? " 

" You look lovely, too," said Mildred. 

.-Vnd Leslie's old-fashioned frock, made like 
Mildred's, except that it was plain blue, was 
really very becoming to her. But, scarcely 
pausing to hear Mildred's opinion of her cos- 
tume, Leslie rattled on: "Oh, say, — would you 
believe it? — pa 's sent a real drummer to the 
house, with a regular army drum. He knows 
the commanding officer over at Fort Meyer, 
and he let him come. And he 's going to 
drum at that part where you hear the soldiers 
coming — don't you remember? Won't that 
be nice! And — and the ice-cream has n't 
come, and ma ! she 's just worried to death 
about it. Did you see Carrie Wilkins when 
you came up ? " 

" No," said Mildred, " I came right Ujvstairs. 
I did n't see anybody." 

" Well," said Leslie, " Carrie Wilkins has got 
on a white silk dress and real pearl ear-rings; 
iiur father gave them to her on her birthday. 
And Mabel Jones — " 

But then there was a rapping on the door, 
and Charlie's voice was heard calling out, 
" Leslie ! " 

"What is it?" said Leslie, dancing o\er to 
the door. 

" Is Mildred in there ? " said Charlie. 

'• Yes," said Leslie. 

" Tell her to hurry," said Charlie ; '■ we 're all 

" All right," said Mildred, speaking for her- 
self, " I '11 be there in a minute. Come, l\Lima, 
they are all ready to begin." 

And the color in Mildred's cheeks deepened, 
and her eyes sparkled. She felt a httle afraid 
again at the thought of facing that roomful of 
children and grown people, whose voices could 
be heard in a subdued murmur as they went 

Of course Mildred and Leslie and the others 
who took part in the play were not to show 
themselves until they appeared upon the stage. 
But the desire of the children in the parlor to 
see their costumes, and the desire of the actors 
to display them, had resulted in many little 
private e.xhibitions. But Mildred, entering into 
the spirit of the theatricals, insisted upon going 
down the back stairs, so as to take no chances 
of being discovered. 

The play was to be given in the back parlor, 
which was shut oft" from the front parlor by fold- 
ing doors. The hall also was curtained off. 
The back parlor had two doors, one opening 
into the screened hall, and another into a rear 
room, which Charlie called the greenroom. It 
was here that Mildred, accompanied b} her 
mother, took refuge. When they opened the 
door there was a babel of voices all talking at 
once. There was Will Baily, with his face 
blacked, " cutting up like everything," as Leslie 
expressed it. There was the boy who ]5la)ed 
old " Mr. Smith," dressed in a snuff-colored 
suit of small-clothes, a white wig and spectacles, 
and an ebony cane swinging from his wrist by 
a cord. He was standing up very straight for 



an old man, and seemed to be rather at a loss 
what to do with his hands. There was his son, 
" Captain Smith, of the British army," disguised 
in a red wig and beard, and rough clothes; a 
costume which, as the other boys thought it 
was comical, he helped out by talking in Irish 
brogue, and trying to be as funny as Will Baily. 
These two were " showing off" for the benefit 
of several other boys who had no business be- 
hind the scenes, but who had slipped in to 
see what was going on. Then there were the 
" Continental Major" and the two soldiers. 

" General Washington " had stepped out 
somewhere to see about some detail. 

Leslie took Mildred through this rabble into 
the back parlor to show her "the stage"; and 
while Mildred was looking around at the ar- 
rangements, Leslie opened a crack in the fold- 
ing doors and peeped through. Then, as a child 
on the other side cried out, " I .see somebody ! " 
she hastily shut them again. Screens had been 
placed in front of the hall door and greenroom 
door, leading on to the stage, so as to hide these 
e,\its from the view of the audience. The old- 
fashioned furniture and the spinning-wheel were 
there ; and the real drummer was in the hall in 
charge of the thunder and lightning. In fact, 
everything seemed to be ready, and the audience 
on the other side of the folding doors began to 
show signs of impatience. Mildred, very much 
excited, went back into the greenroom to look 
for Charlie and to ask him if they ought not to 
begin. She found both Charlie and his father 
there, the Captain having come in on the same 
errand as Mildred. 

" Come, now, Charlie," he .said ; " every one 
is tired of waiting. It is time that you were 
showing us what you can do." 

" .^.11 right, sir," said Charlie ; " we are going 
to begin right now." And he clapped his 
hands, and called out, " Stop talking, every- 
body, and listen to me ! All of you who are 
not going to act must go out ! Come, Dick, 
Arthur, hurry up ! That 's right. Thank you. 
Now, then," he said to the others, as he closed 
and locked the door on the last lingering in- 
truder, " remember that there must be no more 
laughing and talking in the greenroom, because 
when the stage is open they can hear you out 
front. You must listen to what is going on on 

the stage, so as to get your cues. And under- 
stand," he continued, looking at Will Baily and 
the boy in the red wig, " this is business. We 
are not doing this for our own fun, but to .show 
the audience that we can act. So, now, don't 
let 's have any more of this foolishness, but let 
everybody try to do their best." 

Mildred was greatly pleased by this little dis- 
play of authority on Charlie's part. From the 
behavior of the others she had begun to fear 
that the theatricals would be a silly failure, and 
the actors a laughing-stock for the audience. 
As Mildred had a great deal of personal dignity, 
she did not like to be laughed at, and she was 
growing indignant with the others, especially 
Master Baily and the British Captain, for their 
frivolous conduct. But this little speech of 
Charlie's immediately had a good effect. They 
all became quiet, and some began to read over 
their parts for the tiine. Mildred was .still 
further delighted when Charlie, suddenly snap- 
ping his fingers, exclaimed, '• My goodness ! 
I 'd forgotten the prompter ! " and, turning to 
her mother, said, " Mrs. Fairleigh, won't you 
help a fellow out? You '11 be just the one if 
you '11 only do it. I '11 put a chair there in.side 
the screen by the hall door, where you can see 
everything, and here 's the whole play written 
out for you to prompt from." 

'• Oh, yes, Mama, do ! " cried Mildred. 

" Certainly I will, Charlie, if you want me 
to," said Mrs. Fairleigh. '' Where shall I sit ? 

" Yes 'm, if you please," said Charlie. 

And Mildred felt completely satisfied now 
that the play could not be a failure. Armed 
with the silver bell from the dinner-table to give 
the signal for opening and closing the doors 
(which work was performed by two boys who 
were instructed to keep out of sight), Mrs. Fair- 
leigh took her seat. 

" Now, then, we 're all ready ! " said Charlie. 
" Frances" (this was Mildred), " take your seat 
at the wheel. Mr. Smith, take your place in the 
chair, please, and open that book on the table. 
Now, then — " 

Here there was a knock on the greenroom 
door, and Mrs. Morton's voice was heard in- 
(juiring, " Are n't you nearly ready, CharHe ? " 

"Yes, Ma, yes," cried Charlie. 


Then came a little stamping of feet and 
clapping of hands from the impatient audience 
in the parlor. 

" Now, then," cried Charhe, hurriedly, 
" Sarah " (this to Leslie), " stand here, looking 
out of the window." The window had been 
made in the screen that stood in the front of 
the door leading into the hall, where the thun- 
der and lightning were stationed. " Clear the 
stage!" cried Charlie. "All ready! Strike 
one bell, please, Mrs. Fairleigh. That 's for 
pa to turn down the gas in the parlor," he ex- 
plained in a whisper as he joined the prompter, 
behind the screen. And as soon as the bell 
was rung the noise in front stopped instantly. 
A second bell was rung, and the folding doors 
rolled back. 

Mildred felt herself grow pale with alarm. 
She would have liked to have run away. She 
dared not lift her eyes to meet the gaze of all 
those other eyes fastened upon her. With her 
foot upon the treadle, she kept the spinning- 
wheel revolving rapidly, and bent her head over 
the flax upon her distaff. The audience ap- 
plauded and then became silent and attentive. 
Leslie had to make the first speech, and Mil- 
dred thought that she was a very long time 
making it. Yes, she certainly was a long time 
saying it. Was anything the matter ? The next 
moment Mildred heard her mother's voice from 
behind the screen, very low but verj' distinct, 
telhng Leshe her words. Still no sound from 
Leslie. The audience began to whisper and 
move, and some one tittered. Mildred was 
growing very nervous. At last she gained cour- 
age enough to raise her head and steal a glance 
at her companion. To her dismay she found 
that Leslie still kept her back to the audience, 
while her shoulders were shaking very suspi- 
ciously. Then in an instant Mildred understood 
it all. The unfortunate " Sarah " was laughing 
— laughing so that she could not say her lines. 
Something had to be done, and in sudden des- 
peration, not knowing whether she was doing 
right or wrong, Mildred herself began speaking 
Leslie's words. 

"How dark it is to-night! It looks as if a 
storm was brewing." And then, continuing, she 
uttered her own speech, " Oh, I hope not. Just 
think of the poor soldiers who have to sleep 


upon the ground without a roof to shelter 

Frightened at the sound of her voice, at first 
Mildred had faltered ; but as she jjroceeded 
she gained confidence, and when at last .she 
had finished, old " Mr. Smith " took up the 
conversation quite naturally: "Alas! yes, my 
daughter. Think of your poor brother Henry, 
who is fighting for his king by the side of the 
British soldiers. Pray heaven, he may be safe in 
camp to-night! " Then Mildred all at once felt 
a perfect ease and self-posse.ssion coming over 
her, as pleasant as it was unexpected. 

It seemed to her that she really was " Frances 
Smith," and that it was her father sitting over 
there, and this their home ; and anxiety for her 
soldier brother became the uppermost emotion 
in her breast. She forgot about the audience, 
and was only dimly aware of Charlie's whisper- 
ing from behind the screen to Leslie, " Don't 
make a goose of yourself. Miss, and spoil it all ! " 

But by this time Leslie was facing the audi- 
ence, no longer laughing, but with a rosy color 
in her cheeks and a very determined look in her 
eyes. She made her next speech without a 
falter. Evidently the worst was over. The dia- 
logue went on without a hitch. Mildred, busying 
herself with her spinning, had quite forgotten 
about the calcium lightning ; and when it sud- 
denly flared through the window she was really 
startled and half arose from her seat. Then fol- 
lowed the crash of the thunder on the gong, and 
the swish of the rain as the peas rattled down 
into the box. At all of which the audience ap- 
plauded enthusiastically. When, in reply to the 
knocking at the door, black " Caesar" made his 
appearance, every one laughed — he looked so 
comical. But when "Mr. Harper" came in, with 
his military cloak and three-cornered hat drip- 
ping with rain, he received round after round 
of applause. 

Mildred herself would have liked to have ap- 
plauded Charlie, — he looked so stately and dig- 
nified. Handing his wet garments to " Caesar," 
he made a bow to the ladies that would have 
warmed old Amanda's heart if she could have 
seen it. Surely a tea-tray could have been set 
upon his back! And Mildred and Leslie per- 
formed their courtesies in return in a way that 
Mistress Barbara herself mi^ht have envied. 


At last " Mr. Harjjer" retired and '■ Captain 
Smith " threw off his disguise. This produced 
a sensation, and the doors were closed upon the 
first act in a storm of applause. 

Chai'Ter XIV. 

Behind the scenes all was excitement. 
Charlie appeared jubilant. He declared that 
they had won a great success. And then, to 
Mildred's surprise, he said, " W'e 've got Mil- 
dred to thank for that ! I thought for a mo- 
ment, when Les got to laughing, that the whole 
business was gone up ! You did splendidly, 
Mildred ! But I knew you would," he added. 

Mildred blushed with pleasure at this praise, 
and began to e.xplain earnestly, " I did n't 
know whether I ought to say Leslie's part then 
or not. But I thought that somebody ought 
to do something, right away ; and so I just 
did it." 

" I 'm mighty glad you did." said CharHe ; " it 
saved the play. And the way you jumped 
when the lightning went off was fine." 

Mildred was going to explain how this had 
happened also, when she felt her mother's hand 
laid gently upon her shoulder. " I think," said 
Mrs. Fairleigh, " that every one did remarkably 
well. Leslie's self-control in overcoming her 
desire to laugh and going on with her part 
was excellent. Indeed, my dear," she contin- 
ued to Leslie, who was standing behind Charlie 
a little distance away, " I think you ought to 
be very proud of yourself." 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Mildred eagerly, with a 
sudden feeling of self-reproach, " did n't she do 
well. Mama ? She did better than I did, a great 
deal better." 

" I think she did mighty well, too,'' said 
Charlie, hurriedly, turning around to Leslie. 

But Leslie did not seem very happy at this 
praise. She looked at her brother a moment, 
and said, '' You need not have been so cross 
with me ! " And then went away with some of 
her girl friends who had slipped behind the 
scenes to talk over the play. 

1 ndeed, the room was fast filling up with the 
audience and actors, all talking at once. " Say, 
how did I do ? " " Was n't Mildred splendid I " 
" How did I look ? " '' Was n't the lightning 
good!" " He 's a real soldier." " Yes, I saw 



his drum. He 's going to play on it in the 
next act." Then Charlie, having by this time 
somewhat recovered from his e.xcitement, 
clapped his hands to attract attention and 
called out : " Everybody please go back into 
the parlor now; we 're going to begin." And 
the room was cleared. 

Mildred had been looking for Leslie. She 
wanted to say something pleasant to her, and 
have Leslie tell her that she did not mind about 
her having said her lines. But Leslie did not 
come back until the folding doors were ready 
to be opened. 

The furniture had been moved out into the 
hall, and the clothes-horse representing the 
brick wall had been set up, and the plants 
placed around for the garden scene. " General 
Washington " and " Frances " were the first to 
appear, and began the act very smoothly. In 
fact, all went well until that point was reached 
where the drums of the advancing American 
troops were heard, at first very soft and seem- 
ingly at a great distance, and then growing 
louder and louder. This effect the audience ap- 
plauded with great delight. " Sarah " now picks 
up her brother's wig and beard, which he has 
cast aside, and begs him to fly ; while " Caesar," 
with popping eyes, rushes in and exclaims, 
" Golly ! Massa Henry, you better run away. 
De sojers is a-comin'!" Then the young Captain 
says : " My good fellow, you know not what 
you are talking about. A British officer never 
runs away." At least that is what he should 
have said. But, unfortunately, in the excitement 
of the moment the gallant Captain forgot his 
lines. He got as far as " my good fellow," and 
there he stuck fast. Twice he repeated this, 
looking anxiously around. Mrs. Fairleigh from 
behind the screen prompted him once, but the 
Captain, being confused, did not hear her, and 
only looked helplessly in her direction. Again 
she repeated the lines, a little louder, and the 
audience began to smile. A third time the 
prompter spoke them, so loud that every one 
heard them, whereupon a mischievous boy in 
the back part of the parlor put his hand to his 
mouth and called out in a very loud whisper, 
"A — British — officer — never — runs — away .' " 
At which there was a shout of laughter. And 
when the unhappy Captain obediently repeated 


the words, there was another peal. 'I'liis was 
hardly subdued when, at the close of the act, 
the Captain, disappearing, reappears a prisoner 
in the hands of the "Continental Major"; and 
" Sarah," having to go down on her knees before 
him in a wild appeal, found that she was quite 
unable to keep her face straight. Whereupon 
the stage-manager hurried the signal for closing 
the doors, while the applause which followed 
was mixed with a good deal of merriment. 

For a few minutes Charlie was bitterly vexed, 
but remembering a hint that his father had 
given him in the early part of the evening, 
about not losing his temper over such mi.shaps, 
he not only controlled himself and listened 
good-naturedly to the mortified Captain's eager 
explanation of how it had all happened, but 
laughed with the others, and declared that 
after all it did not matter. For which Htde 
display of manliness he was rewarded by an 
approving look from Mrs. Fairleigh and by 
afterward overhearing the poor Captain sa)-, 
" Charlie is a regular brick not to get mad." 

The only slip that occurred in the last act 
was that the drummer, forgetting that he was 
in a private parlor, drummed so loudly when 
the American reinforcements were arriving that 
the voices of the actors could not be heard. 
This, however, could scarcely be called a mis- 
fortune, because the boys in the audience 
thought the rat-a-plan-plan so fine that they 
cheered the drummer. Then when " Mr. Har- 
per" came on and, casting aside his old cloak, 
declared himself to be General Washington, 
there was another round of applause. And 
finally, when " Frances " threw herself at the Gen- 
eral's feet and begged for her brother's life, the 
audience was excited to a high pitch of enthu- 
siasm. So much so, indeed, that when the doors 
closed on the final tableau, they had to be re- 
opened to allow the actors to acknowledge the 
continued applause. And thus the theatricals 
came to an end with great success. 

A little later the stage was cleared aw-ay, and 
those who had taken part in the play joined 
their friends in the parlor and received 
enough to satisfy them all. It was somewhat 
bewildering to Mildred to leave the last cen- 
tury, as it were, and come back to the present ; 
especially when she was surrounded by so m.iny 


people complimenting her for her acting. She 
scarcely knew what to say or do. She never 
had been praised so much before. She found it 
very delightful to be told how pretty she had 
looked and how well she had performed her 
part. The only drawback to her gratification 
was the thought that perhaps Leslie was of- 
fended with her. But when the dancing began, 
and CharHe, quite gallant in his uniform, came 
to lead her out, she soon ceased to think about 
the possibility of this. Then, too, all the boys, 
one after another, came up and wanted to dance 
with her, which was very pleasant. In fact, when 
late in the evening Charlie once more appeared 
to claim the last dance before supper, Mildred 
was as happy as she could possibly be. 

Now it so happened that in this dance, 
which was a quadrille, Mildred stood at the 
end of the room near a little group of girls 
talking among themselves. And in one of the 
figures where her partner had to advance alone, 
leaving her standing in her place, Mildred 
heard her name mentioned. She could not 
help hearing what followed. " Did you ever 
see anything like the way she is carrying 
on ? " said one of the girls. " She won't give 
them a chance to dance with any of the other 
girls." " Oh, but that 's not anything," said 
Carrie Wilkins, " to what she did in the play ! " 
" What did she do ? " chorused the others. 
" Well, you know," said Carrie, " in the first 
scene, when it was LesHe's turn to speak, Mil- 
dred was so afraid that people would n't notice 
her that she took Leslie's words right away 
from her and said them herself" " Did you 
ever!" exclaimed the others, in various tones 
of surprise and blame. Then one of the girls 
said, " Hush ! She '11 hear you, she 's standing 
right there." " I don't care," said Carrie; "lis- 
teners never hear good of themselves, anyway." 

Now, at the very first remark Mildred felt 
the l)lood rush into her face hotly and then 
recede, leaving her quite pale. At first she 
thought such things could not be said of her in 
earnest, that the girls were only trying to tease 
her; but the next moment she could no longer 
doubt their seriousness. Then she was about 
to turn on her accuser and deny the unkind 
statement. But as quickly she shrank from 
the rude scene that this was likely to create. 


When, however, tlie last remark was uttered, 
Mildred felt that she could no longer stand 
there and listen, so turning around she said, as 
quietly as her trembling voice would allow, " I 
did hear what you said ; and it is not true." 

As she spoke the other girls immediately 
became embarrassed ; but Carrie giggled, and 
then tossing her head said, " Well, Leslie said 
you did, at any rate." 

This unexpected statement overwhelmed poor 
Mildred, who simply stared at Carrie, unable to 
reply. Had Leslie really said this of her ! 
Then she heard Charlie's voice at her ear, say- 
ing, " What 's the matter ? " and turning aroimd 
she found that she was delaying the dance. 
" What 's the matter ? " repeated Charlie, look- 
ing at her curiously. " What makes you so 
pale? " 

Mildred, striving to keep the tears from her 
eyes, said, " Oh, nothing ; 1 don't feel very 
well." She would like to have gone directly to 
her mother, but some spirit within her prompted 
her not to let Carrie Wilkins and the others see 
how much she was hurt, and she finished the 
rest of the dance, holding her head up proudly. 
And when the music changed into a march, 
and every one moved into the supper-room, 
Mildred accompanied Chariie, trying to talk 
and be like herself in order that he might not 
know what had happened. She made a pre- 
tense of eating, just to satisfy him ; but as soon 
as she could she made her escape and sought 
her mother. 

" You are tired, dear," said Mrs. Fairleigh, 
looking anxiously into Mildred's face. 

"Yes, Mama," said Mildred; "I am ready 
to go home, if you like." 

" That is a sensible little girl," said her 
mother. "There is Mrs. Morton over there, 
now, with Leslie. We will go ami wish them 
good night." 

Mrs. Morton protested against their going 
so early, and then had a great deal to say about 
Mildred's success in the play, and how much 
they thanked her for helping them ; to all of 
which Mildred could think of nothing that she 
could truthfully reply, and so .she kept silent 
and let her mother answer for her. Only once, 
when Mrs. Morton was saying how greatly 
obliged Leslie and Charlie were to her for 


helping them, Mildred looked Leslie in the 
eyes. To her surprise, Leslie not only met her 
gaze but responded to it with a little laugh ; to 
be sure, the color came into her cheeks, but 
that was the only guilty sign. And Mildred 
wondered indignantly, as she turned away, how 
any one could be so double-faced. She was 
glad to leave the house, she was glad to get 
back to her own home, and it was not until 
she was safe in the shelter of her room and had 
exchanged for her wrapper her player's cos- 
tume, which had suddenly become an object 
of dislike, that she unburdened her heart to her 

Whatever Mrs. Fairleigh may have thought 
on hearing Mildred's story, she said nothing, 
but sitting down before the fire, she took the 
weeping girl in her arms and rocked her and 
soothed her, and whispered words of com- 
fort to her until the storm of tears had passed 

" Mama," said Mildred, finally, after the last 
sob had subsided, and she had sat silent for a 
little while, her arms around her mother's neck, 
her head on her shoulder, and her eyes gazing 
into the fire — "Mama, I don't think I want 
ever to act in theatricals again." 

" Don't you, dear ? " said her mother. 

" No," said Mildred, shaking her head and 
winking away a lingering tear that made darts 
and arrows of the firelight. " If I had known 
that people were going to think dreadful things 
of me, like that, I would n't have acted at all." 

" Don't you think that you are exaggerating 
this a little, Mildred," said her mother. " It is 
quite natural that you should, of course. At the 
same time, I don't think that any one thought 
unkind things of you. Certainly none of the 
ladies did, and the boys showed that they 
did n't. And as for Carrie Wilkins, I don't 
think that even she really believed what she 
said of you." 

" But why did she say it, then, ^L^ma ?" .said 
Mildred, suddenly sitting up and opening her 
eyes at her mother. 

" Well," said Mrs. Fairleigh, " when two or 
three little girls get talking together at a party, 
they very often .say silly things that they don't 
mean. And if it happens that they don't 
receive as much attention as they expect, tiiey 

iSo^l TWO GIRI.S AND A llOV. 585 

sometimes say S[)iterul Ihiiigs of other little the unkind thing Carrie said of yon?" asked 

girls — things that they know are not true." Mrs. Fairleigh. 

" Well, but, Mama," said Mildred, " I think " Of course I should n'l, Mama," said Mildred, 

that is very wicked." indignantly. 

" So do 1, dear," said her mother. '• At the " Then why are yon so ready to Ijclieve what 

same time there are such people in the world, and 
all that we can do is to keep away from them 
and try very hard not to become like them." 

" I don't think I ever could be like that," 
said Mildred, very decidedly. 

'• I hope not, dear," said her mother. 

Then, after looking dreamily at the fire a little 
while, Mildred said, " I did n't think that Leslie 
was so deceitful ; did you. Mama ? " 

" What makes you think she is deceitful, 
Mildred ? " said her mother. 

" Why, because," said Mildred, in surprise, 
" did n't Carrie Wilkins say that Leslie had de- 
clared that I said her words in the play just to 
make people look at me ? And Leslie knows 
that I did n't." 

•■Would vou like friends of vours to believe 

she said of Leslie, and charge your little friend 
with being deceitful ? " 

■' But it is very different," began Mildred, 
eagerly, "because — because — " 

Then, as she faltered and stopped, her mother 
said, " It is not so different, sweetheart, but 
that it will show you how easy it is to speak ill 
of others and how hard it is to keei) only fair 
and gentle feelings in our hearts." 

Mildred made no answer to this. She let her 
head sink down once more upon her mother's 
shoulder, while her mother, with her cheek 
pressed against Mildred's curly hair, and her 
arms folded close about her, gazed silently at 
the fire. For a long time neither of them moved, 
until finally Mrs. Fairleigh, arousing herself, 
found that Mildred had fallen asleejj. 

( Tij hi continued. ) 


By E. L. Sylvester. 

"A'aiii, rain, go away; 
Come again another day. 

Rain, rain, go away; 
Phoebe 's in despair. 
Come again another day 
When the trees are bare; 
When the skies are gloomy. 
When the birds have flown, 
When there 's not a blossom 
The bee can call his own; 

When the leaves are flying 

All about the lawn, 

When the wind is sighing 

For the summer gone, — 

Tliat 'jf the time for raining. 

No matter how it pours. 

And Phoebe then is quite content 

To play all day indoors. 


"^ £2r^^ 




By C^hakles F. Lummis. 

'I'liE achievements of the exi)lorer are among 
tlie most important, as they are among the most 
fascinating, of human heroisms. The quahties 
of mind and body necessary to his task are rare 
and admirable. He should have many sides 
and be strong in each — the rounded man that 
nature meant man to be. His body need not 
be as strong as Samson's, nor his mind Napo- 
leon's, nor his heart the most fully developed 
heart on earth ; but mind, heart, and body he 
needs, and each in the measure of a strong man. 
There is hardly another calling in which every 
muscle, so to speak, of his threefold nature will 
be more constantly or more evenly called into 

It is a curious fact that some of the very 
greatest of human achievements have been by 
chance. Many among the most important dis- 
coveries in the history of mankind have been 
made by men who were not seeking the great 
truth they found. Science is the result not 
only of study, but of precious accidents; and 
this is as true of history. It is an interesting 
study in itself, — the influence which happy blun- 
ders and unintended happenings have had upon 

In exploration, as in invention, accident has 
played its important part. Some of the most 
valuable exj)lorations have been made by men 
who had no more idea of being explorers than 
they had of inventing a railroad to the moon ; 
and it is a striking fact that the first inland 
exploration of America, and the two most won- 
derful journeys in it, were not only accidents, 
but the crowning misfortunes and disappoint- 
ments of the men who had hoped for very 
different things. 

Exploration, intended or involuntary, has 
achieved not only great results to civilization, 
but in the doing has scored some of the high- 
est feats of human heroism. America in par- 
ticular, perhaps, has been the field of great and 

remarkable journeys ; but the two men who 
made the most astounding journeys in Amer- 
ica — and probably in all history — are still 
almost unheard of among us. They are heroes 
whose names are as Greek to the vast majority 
of Americans, albeit they are men in whom 
Americans particularly should take deep and 
admiring interest. They were Alvar Nunez 
Cabeza de Vaca, the first American traveler; 
and Andres Docampo, the man who walked 
farther than any one. 

In a world so big and old and full of great 
deeds as this, it is extremely difficult to say of 
any one man, "He was the greatest " this or that ; 
and even in the matter of journeys there have 
been bewilderingly many great ones — of the 
most wonderful of which we hear least. As ex- 
plorers we cannot give Vaca and Docampo 
great rank ; though the latter's explorations were 
not contemptible, and Vaca's were of great im- 
portance. But as physical achievements the 
journeys of these neglected heroes can safely 
be said to be without parallel. They were the 
most wonderful walks ever made by man. 
Both men made their records in America, and 
each made most of his journey in what is now 
the United States. 

Cabeza de Vaca was the first European really 
to penetrate the then "Dark Continent" of 
North America; by centuries the first to cross 
the continent. His nine years of wandering on 
foot, unarmed, naked, starving, among wild 
beasts and wilder men, with no more company 
than three as ill-fated comrades, gave the world 
its first glimpse of the United States inland, and 
led to some of the most stirring and important 
achievements connected with its early history. 
Nearly a century before the Pilgrim Fathers 
planted their noble commonwealth on the edge 
of Massachusetts ; seventy-five years before the 
first English settlement was made in the New 
World; and more than a generation before there 



was a single Caucasian settler of any blood 
within our area, Vaca and his gaunt followers 
had trudged across this unknown land. 

It is a long way back to those days. Henry 
VIII. was then king of England, and sixteen 
rulers have since occupied that throne. Eliza- 
beth, the Virgin Queen, was not born when Vaca 
started on his appalling journey, and did not 
begin to reign until twenty years after he had 
ended it. It was fifty years before the birth of 
Captain John Smith, the founder of Virginia ; a 
generation before the birth of Shakspere, and 
two and a half generations before Milton. Henry 
Hudson, the famous explorer for whom one of 
our chief rivers is named, was not yet born. 
Columbus himself had been dead less than 
twenty-five years ; and the conqueror of Mexico 
had seventeen yet to live. It was sixty years 
before the world had ever heard of such a thing 
as a newspaper; and the best geographers still 
thought it possible to sail through America to 
Asia. There was not a white man in North 
America above the middle of Mexico ; nor had 
one ever gone two hundred miles inland in this 
continental wilderness, of which the world knew 
almost less than we know now of the moon. 

The name of Cabeza de Vaca may seem to 
us a curious one. It means " Head of a Cow." 
But this quaint family name was an honorable 
one in Spain, and had a brave winning; it was 
earned at the battle of Naves de Tolosa in the 
thirteenth century, one of the decisive engage- 
ments of all those centuries of war with the 
Moors. Alvar's grandfather was also a man 
of some note, and conqueror of the Canary 

Alvar was born in Xeres de la Frontera, 
Spain, toward the last of the fifteenth century. 
Of his early life we know little, except that he 
had already won some consideration when, in 
1527, a mature man, he came to the New World. 
In that year we find him sailing from Spain as 
treasurer and sheriff of the expedition of six 
hundred men with which Pamfilo de Narvaez 
intended to conquer and colonize the Flowery 
Land, discovered a decade before by Ponce de 

They reached Santo Domingo, and thence 
sailed to Cuba. On (iood Friday, 1528, ten 
months after leaving Spain, they reached Florida, 

and landed at what is now named Tampa Bay. 
Taking formal possession of the country for 
Spain, they set out to explore and conquer the 
unguessed wilderness. At Santo Domingo, ship- 
wreck and desertion had already cost them hea- 
vily, and of the original six hundred men there 
were but three hundred and forty-five left. No 
sooner had they reached Florida than the most 
fearful misfortunes began, and with every day 
grew worse. Food there was almost none ; 
hostile Indians beset them on every hand ; and 
the countless rivers, lakes, and swamps made 
progress difficult and dangerous. The little 
army was fast thinning out under war and star- 
vation, and plots were rife among the survivors. 
They were so enfeebled that they could not even 
get back to their vessels. Struggling through at 
last to the nearest point on the coast, far west 
of Tampa Bay, they decided that their only 
hope was to build boats and try to coast to 
the Spanish settlements in Mexico. Five rude 
boats were made with great toil ; and the poor 
wretches turned westward along the coast of the 
Gulf. Storms scattered the boats and wrecked 
one after the other. Scores of the haggard ad- 
venturers were drowned, Narvaez among them; 
and scores, dashed upon an inhospitable .shore, 
perished by exposure and starvation. Of the 
five boats, three had gone down with all on 
board ; of the eighty men who escaped the 
wreck but fifteen were still alive. AH their 
arms and clothing were at the bottom of the 

The survivors were now on Afa/ Hcnio, " the 
Isle of Misfortune." We know no more of its 
location than that it was west of the mouth of 
the Mississippi. Their boats had crossed that 
mighty current where it plunges out into the 
Gulf; and theirs were the first European eyes to 
see even this much of the Father of Waters. 
The Indians of the island, who had no better 
larder than roots, berries, and fish, treated their 
unfortunate guests as generously as was in their 
power ; and Vaca has written gratefully of them. 

In the spring, his thirteen surviving com- 
panions determined to escape. Vaca was too 
sick to walk, and they abandoned him to his 
fate. Two other sick men, Oviedo and Alaniz, 
were also left behind ; and the latter soon per- 
ished. It was a pitiable plight in wliicli Vaca 


now found himself. A nakcil skeleton, scarce 
able to move, deserted b)- his friends and at the 
mercy of savages, it is small wonder that, as he 
tells us, his lieart sank within him. But he was 
one of the men who never " let go." A con- 
stant soul held up the poor, worn body ; and 
as the weather grew less rigorous, Vaca slowly 
recovered from his sickness. 

Forsi.v years, about, he lived an incoinp.irahly 


vaguely of one another, and made vain at- 
tempts to come together. It was not until Sep- 
tember, 1534, — nearly seven years later, — that 
Dorantes, Castillo, Estevanico, and Vaca were 
reunited ; and the spot where they found this 
happiness was somewhere in Texas, west of the 
Sabine River. 

But Vaca's six years of loneliness and suffer- 
ing unspeakable had not been in vain. For he 

lonely life, bandied about from tribe to tribe of 
Indians, sometimes as a slave, and sometimes 
only a despised outcast. Oviedo fled from some 
danger, and he was never heard of afterward; 
Vaca faced it and lived. That his sufterings w-ere 
almost beyond endurance cannot be doubted. 
Even when he was not the victim of brutal 
treatment, he was the worthless incumbrance, 
the useless interloper, among poor savages who 
lived the most miserable and precarious lives. 
That they did not kill him speaks well for their 
humane kindness. 

The deserters had fared even worse. They 
had fallen into cruel hands, and all had been 
slain except three who were reserved for the 
harder fate of slaves. These three were Andres 
Dorantes, a native of Bejar; -Alonzo del Castillo 
Maldonado, a native of Salamanca ; and the 
negro, Estevanico, who was born in Azamor, 
Africa. These three and Vaca were all that 
were left of the gallant four hundred and fifty 
men (among whom we do not count the de- 
serters at Santo Domingo) who had sailed with 
such high hopes from Spain, in 1527, to con- 
cjuer a corner of the New World — four naked, 
tortured, shivering shadows ; and even they 
were separated, though they occasionally heard 

had acquired, unknowingly, the key to safety ; 
and amid all those horrors, and without dream- 
ing of its significance, he had stumbled upon the 
very strange and interesting clue which was to 
save them all. Without it, all four would have 
perished in the wilderness, and the world would 
never have known their end. 

While they were still on the Isle of Mis- 
fortune, a proposition had been made which 
seemed the height of the ridiculous. " In that 
isle," says Vaca, " they wished to make us doc- 
tors, without examining us or asking our titles ; 
for they themselves cure .sickness by blowing 
upon the sick one. With that blowing, and 
with their hands, they remove from him the ; and they bade us do the same, so as to 
be of some use to them. We laughed at this, 
saying that they were making fun, and that we 
knew not how to heal ; and for that they took 
away our food till we should do that which they 
said. And seeing our stubbornness, an Indian 
said to me that I did not understand, for that 
it did no good for one to know how, because 
the very stones and other things of the field 
have power to heal, .... and that we, who 
were men, must certainly have greater power." 

This was a characteristic thing which the old 




Indian said, and a key to the remarkable su- 
perstitions of his race. But the Spaniards, of" 
course, could not yet understand. 

Presently the savages removed to the main- 
land. They were always in abject poverty, and 
many of them perished from starvation and from 
the exposures of their wretched existence. For 
three months in the year they had " nothing but 
shell-fish and very bad water"; and at other 
times only poor berries and the like ; and their 
year was a series of wanderings hither and yon 
in quest of these scant and unsatisfactory foods. 

It was an important fact that Vaca was ut- 
terly useless to the Indians. He could not 
serve them as a warrior ; for in his wasted con- 
dition the bow was more than he could master. 
As a hunter he was equally unavailable ; for, as 
he himself says, " it was impossible for him to 
trail animals." Assistance in carrying water or 
fuel or anything of the sort was impossible, for 
he was a man, and his Indian neighbors could 
not let a man do woman's work. So, among 
these starveling nomads, this man who could 
not help but must be fed was a real burden ; 
and the only wonder is that they did not kill 

Under these circumstances, Vaca began to 
wander about. His indifferent captors paid 
little attention, and by degrees he got to making 
long trips north, and up and down the coast. 
In time he began to see a chance for trading, 
in which the Indians encouraged him, glad to 
find their " white elephant " of some at last. 
From the northern tribes he brought down skins 
and almagre (the red clay so indispensable to 
the savages for face-paint), flakes of flint to 
make arrow-heads, hard reeds for the shafts, 
and tassels of deer-hair dyed red. These things 
he readily exchanged among the coast tribes for 
shells and shell-beads, and the like — which, in 
turn, were in demand among his northern cus- 

On account of their constant wars, the In- 
dians could not venture outside their own 
range ; so this safe go-between trader was a 
convenience which they encouraged. So far as 
he was concerned, though the life was still one 
of great suffering, he was constantly gaining 
knowledge which would be useful to him in 
his never-forgotten ]>lan of getting back to the 

world. These lonely trading expeditions of his 
covered thousands of miles on foot through 
the trackless wildernesses ; and through them 
his aggregate wanderings were much greater 
than those of either of the others. 

It was during these long and awful tramps 
that Cabeza de Vaca had one particularly 
interesting experience. He was the first Euro- 
pean who saw the great American bison, the 
buffalo, — which has become practically extinct 
in the last decade, but once roamed the plains 
in vast hordes, — and first by many years. He 
saw them and ate their meat in the Red River 
country of Texas, and has left us a description 
of the " hunchback cows." None of his com- 
panions ever saw one, for in their subsequent 
journey together the four Spaniards passed 
south of the buffalo-country. 

Meanwhile, as I have noted, the forlorn and 
naked trader had had the duties of a doctor 
forced upon him. He did not understand what 
this involuntary profession might do for him — 
he was simply pushed into it at first, and fol- 
lowed it not from choice, but to keep from hav- 
ing trouble. He was "good for nothing but to 
be a medicine-man." He had learned the pecul- 
iar treatment of the aboriginal wizards, though 
not their fundamental ideas. The Indians still 
look upon sickness as a "being possessed"; 
and their idea of doctoring is not so much to 
cure as to exorcise the bad spirits which cause 

This is done by a sleight-of-hand rigmarole, 
even to this day. The medicine-man would 
suck the sore spot, and pretend thus to extract 
a stone or thorn which was supposed to have 
been the cause of trouble ; and the patient was 
"cured." Cabeza de Vaca began to "practise 
medicine" after the Indian fashion. He says 
himself, " I have tried these things, and they 
were very successful." 

When the four wanderers at last came toge- 
ther after their long separation, — in which all 
had suffered untold horrors, — Vaca had then, 
though still ungues.sed, the key of hope. Their 
first plan was to escape from their present cap- 
tors. It took ten months to effect it, and mean- 
time their distress was great — as it had been 
constantly for so many years. At times they 
li\e(l on a dailv ration of two handfuls of wild 



peas and a little water. Vaca relates what a 
godsend it seemed when he was allowed to 
scrape hides for the Indians ; he carefully 
saved the scrapings, which served him as food 
for days. They had no clothing, and there 
was no shelter; and constant exposure to heat 
and cold and the myriad thorns of that country 
caused them to " shed their skin like snakes." 

At last, in August, 1535, the four sufferers 
escaped to a tribe called the Avavares. But 
now a new career began to open to them. That 
his companions might not be as useless as he 
had been, Cabeza de Vaca had instructed them 
in the " arts " of Indian medicine-men ; and all 
four began to put their new and strange profes- 
sion into practice. To the ordinary Indian 
charms and incantations these humble Chris- 
tians added fervent prayers to the true God. It 
was a sort of sixteenth century " faith-cure " ; and 
naturally enough, among such superstitious pa- 
tients, was very effective. Their multitudinous 
cures the amateur, but sincere, doctors, with 
touching humility, attributed entirely to God; 
but what great results these might have upon 
their own fortunes now began to dawn upon 
them. From wandering, naked, starving, de- 
spised beggars, and slaves to brutal savages, they 
suddenly became personages of note — still pau- 
pers and sufferers, as were all their patients, but 
paupers of mighty power. There is no fairy tale 
more romantic than the career thenceforth of 
these poor, brave men walking painfully across 
a continent as mastens and benefactors of all 
that host of wild peoples. 

Trudging on from tribe to tribe, painfully and 
slowly, the white medicine-men crossed Texas 
and came close to our present New Mexico. It 
has long been reiterated by the closet historians 
that they entered New Mexico and got even as 
far north as where Santa Fe now is. But mod- 
em scientific research has absolutely proved 
that they went on from Texas through Chi- 
huahua and Sonora and never saw an inch of 
New Mexico. 

With each new tribe the Spaniards paused 
awhile to heal the sick. Everywhere they were 
treated with the greatest kindness their jioor 
hosts could give, and with religious awe. Their 
]5rogress is a very valuable ol)ject-lesson, show- 
ing just how some Inrlian myths are formed — 

first, the successful medicineman, who at his 
death or departure is remembered as hero, then 
as demigod, then as divinity. 

In the Mexican States they found agricultural 
Indians who dwelt in houses of sod and boughs, 
and had beans and pumpkins. These were the 
Jovas, a branch of the Pimas. Of the .scores of 
tribes they had passed through in our present 
Southern States not one has been fully identified. 
They were poor, wandering creatures, and long 
ago disappeared from the earth. But in the 
Sierra Madre of Mexico they found superior 
Indians, whom we can recognize still. Here 
they found the men unclad, but the women 
"very honest in their dress" — with cotton 
tunics of their own w^eaving, with half-sleeves, 
and a skirt to the knee ; and over it a skirt of 
dressed deerskin reaching to the ground and 
fastened in front with straps. They washed 
their clothing with a soapy root — the amok, 
now similarly used by Indians and Mexicans 
throughout the Southwest. These people gave 
Cabeza de Vaca some turquoises, and five ar- 
rowheads each chipped from a single emerald. 

In this village in southwestern Sonora the 
Spaniards stayed three days, living on split deer- 
hearts — whence they named it the ''Town of 

A day's march beyond they met an Indian 
wearing upon his necklace the buckle of a 
sword-belt and a horseshoe nail ; and their 
hearts beat high at this first sign, in all their 
eight years' wandering, of the nearness of Euro- 
]3eans. The Indian told them that men with 
beards like their own had come from the .sky 
and made war upon his people. 

The Spaniards were now entering Sinaloa, 
and found themselves in a fertile land of flow- 
ing streams. The Indians were in mortal fear, 
for two brutes of a class who were very rare 
among the Spanish conquerors (they were, I am 
glad to say, punished for their violation of the 
strict laws of Spain) were then trying to catch 
slaves. The soldiers had just left; but Cabeza 
de Vaca and Est^vanico, with eleven Indians, 
hurried forward on their trail, and next day 
overtook four Spaniards, who led them to their 
rascally captain, Diego de .\lcaraz. It was 
long before that officer could believe the won- 
drous story told by (he naked, torn, shaggy, 




wild man ; but at last his coldness was thawed, before they could accustom themselves to 

and he gave a certificate of the date, and of the eating the food and wearing the clf)thing of 

condition in which Vaca had come to him, and civilized people. 

then sent back for Dorantes and Castillo. Five The negro remained in Mexico. On the loth 

days later these arrived, accompanied by several of April, 1537, Cabeza de Vaca, Castillo, and 

hundred Indians. Dorantes sailed for Spain, arriving in August. 

Alcaraz and his partner in ( rime, Cebreros, The chief hero never came back to North 

wished to enslave these aborigines ; but Cabeza 
de Vaca, of his own danger in taking 
such a stand, indignantly opposed the infamous 
plan, and finally forced the villains to abandon 
it. The Indians were saved; and in all their 
joy at getting back to the world the Spanish 
wanderers parted with sincere regret from these 
simple-hearted friends. After a few days' hard 
travel they reached the post of Culiacan about 
the first of May, 1536, where they were warmly 
welcomed by the ill-fated hero Melchior Diaz. 
He led one of the earliest expeditions (in 1539) 
to the unknown north; and in 1540, on a 
second expedition across part of Arizona and 
into California, was accidentally killed. 

After a short rest the wanderers left for Com- 
postela, then the chief town of the province of 
New Galicia — itself a small journey of three 
hundred miles through a land swarming wiili 
hostile savages. At last, they reached the city 
of Mexico in safety, and w^ere received with 
great honor. But they found that it was long 

America, but we hear of Dorantes as being there 
in the following year. Their report of what they 
saw, and of the stranger countries to the north 
of which they had heard, had already set on 
foot the remarkable expeditions which resulted 
in the discovery of Arizona, New Mexico, our 
Indian Territory, Kansas, and Colorado, and 
brought about the building of the first Euro- 
pean towns in the area of the United States. 
Estevanico was engaged with Fray Marcos in 
the discovery of New Mexico, and was slain 
by the Indians. 

Cabeza de Vaca, as a reward for his then un- 
paralleled walk of much more than ten thousand 
miles in the unknown land, was made Governor 
of Paraguay in 1540. He was not iiualified for 
the place, however, and returned in disgrace. 
That circumstances were rather to blame than 
he, however, is indicated by the fact that he 
was restored to favor and received a ])ension 
of two thousand ducats. He died in Seville at 
a good old age. 


{A Title of Tnasiin- Trmu- in the Streets of N,io York.) 

By Brandek Matihkws. 

\_Beguu in tlu Ncn'emlrer number. ] 

Chapter XIV. 



his seat at the breakfast-table he was not yet 
wide awake. 

To his great surprise Uncle Dick looked as 

fresh as if he had had ten hours' rest. 

R. RAPALLO and " Oh, Tom," cried Polly, " you are very late ! " 

Tom were so in- '• Better late than never," Tom replied cheer- 

terested in the fire fully but drowsily, as he helped himself to the 

that they were buckwheat cakes. 

very late in get- " You 've got sleep in your eyes still," said 

ting to bed. For Uncle Dick. 

the first time in his " I shall be all right in a minute," Tom de- 
life Tom "heard clared. "I suppose it is the light thai makes 
the chimes at mid- my eyes blink." 

night," or at least " I don't know how you would manage if you 
he heard the bell in the tower of a church near were on a long march," Uncle Dick went on, 
by strike twelve. It was a clear winter night ; " when you had to walk twenty hours out of 
there was not a cloud in the heavens, but there twenty-four for three or four days together." 
was no moon, and the sky was dark as if the " I could n't manage it at all," Tom con- 
freezing wind had blown out the stars, which fessed ; " that is, not without training for it. I 
twinkled, chill and remote. In this murk mid- suppose that one can train for anything, even 
night, black and cold, the mighty bonfire by for going without sleep." 

the water's edge blazed away, rolling dense Mr. Rapallo laughed. " I should n't like to 
masses of smoke up the river and afifording a make trial of that. I think the result would be 
delightful .spectacle to those who were unthink- not unlike the experience of the man who be- 
ing enough to forget its cost. lieved that eating was all a matter of habit, and 
It was after one o'clock when Uncle Dick that a horse could be gradually accustomed to 
and Tom returned home. Everybody had gone live on nothing. Unfortunately for the success 
to bed hours before ; but Mrs. Paulding's quick of the experiment, just when he was getting the 
ear recognized her boy's footstep on the stairs horse trained down — it died." 
as he went up to his room. " Oh," said Polly, " I don't see how people 
Five minutes after he entered the house he can ever be so cruel to horses or dogs or cats, 
was in bed and asleep. Indeed, it seemed as It 's hateful." 

if he was in his first nap when there came a rap '■ Experiments are rarely pleasant for those 

on the door, and Katie's voice was heard. on whom they are tried," Uncle Dick returned. 

" Get up out o' that bed. Master Tom. Sure " They are like practical jokes, in that respect." 

it 's gettin' cold the breakfast is, an' it 's the When Tom had finished his breakfast, his 

buckwheat cakes ye like that ye 're mi.ssin'. mother left the dining-room for a conference 

Mr. Richard has been 'atin' away this last half with the Brilliant Conversationalist. Her son 

hour." stood for a moment before the fireplace. 

Thus aroused and besought, Tom got out of " I think that you had better go up-stairs 

bed and dressed sleepily. Even when he took again and take another nap," suggested his 
Vol. XIX. — 38. 593 

594 '''OM PAUI.DINC, 

uncle, noticing how the lioy's eyes were closing 

" I 'ni not very sleepy," Tom asserted, rous- 
ing himself with an effort. " Besides, I could n't 
go to sleep if I wanted to. Cissy Smith and a 
lot more boys are going coasting this morning. 
Cissy is coming for me." 

There was a lounge on one side of the dining- 
room. Tom walked over to it with affected 

" I 've nothing to do to-day," he e.xclaimed, 
" and I think I '11 just lie down here and shut 
my eyes till the boys come." 

Pauline slipped off her uncle's knees and 
drew a shawl over Tom as he lay on the lounge. 

■' Marmee says," she remarked sagely, as she 
did this, " that you must never go to sleep with- 
out something over you." 

" But I 'm not going to sleep," Tom declared. 

The little girl pulled the shawl up to his 
shoulders and tucked it in. Then she stood 
for a moment at the head of the lounge, smooth- 
ing her brother's hair. 

" I wish I had curls like yours, Tom," she 
.said ; " they would be so becoming on a girl, 
and they are just wasted on you." 

" Pauline," her uncle called to her gently, 
" better leave your brother alone and let him 
have his nap." 

" I don't want a nap," asserted Tom, as he 
turned over ; and in less than sixty seconds 
the regularity of his breathing was very like a 

Uncle Dick laughed gently. " The boy was 
up late last night. No wonder he cnn't keep 

He parted with Polly at the door. 

" Good-by, Polly," he said, " I 'm going down- 
town — to work." 

" Have n't you any Christmas holidays ? " she 
asked sympathetically. 

"No," her uncle answered. "The Christmas 
vacation is intended only for l)oys and girls, be- 
cause they have had to work hard over their les- 
sons all the fall. Of course grown-up men don't 
work so hard, and therefore they don't need it." 

" Then I 'm glad I 'm not going to be a grown- 
up man," returned Pauline. 

After her uncle had gone she patted Tom's 
curls, trying to smooth them and then disar- 

ranging them completely — without in any way 
disturbing his sound slumber. 

" How they do curl I" she thought. " I won- 
der if I could make them curl the other way." 

So she got half a dozen little pieces of paper 
and began to twist her brother's locks up in 
them. He still slept on. She was careful not 
to pull the distorted curls. In a few minutes 
Tom's head was covered with half a dozen little 
twists of paper. 

" I do wonder, really," she said to herself, 
" whether that will take any of his curls out of 
curl, or whether it will make them cur! the other 
way. It will be curious to see." 

She moved across the room to judge of the 
possible effect; and then her mother called to 
her and .she flitted lightly up-stairs, leaving her 
brother fast asleep, all unconscious of the adorn- 
ment of his head with little twisted bits of paper. 

Tom lay there for nearly an hour, and then he 
was awakened by the signal of the Black Band 
outside the w'indow. 

It was not until Cissy Smith had whistled 
twice that Tom was aroused sufficiently to un- 
derstand that his friend had come for him. 

He sprang from the lounge and ru.shed into 
the hall. He put on his cap and, while he was 
getting his overcoat buttoned, he opened the 
door and returned the signal. 

" Is that your new sled ? " he cried, as he came 
out and found Cissy Smith waiting for him. 
" It 's a beauty ! " 

" It 's my best Christmas present," Cissy de- 
clared. " Father had it made for me at the same 
place one was made for him when he was a boy. 
You can't buy them anywhere; you have to 
order them a year ahead." 

The sled was worthy of praise. It was a 
shapely and a seemly piece of work. It stood 
high from the ground on two firm but delicate 
runners, shod and braced with steel. Its slen- 
der length was not disfigured by paint, but the 
tough wood showed clear-grained through the 
white varnish. 

After the sled had been duly admired, Tom 
and Cissy set out for the hillside where they 
were to coast. 

At the first corner, they met Lott and Harry 
Zachary; and other boys joined them as they 
went on. 

Lott asked Cissy, " How is little Jimmy Wig- 
ger this morning ? " and he twisted himself into 
an interrogation-mark in his anxiety to get all 
the details of the sad story. 

Cissy reported that the little boy was not im- 

" If his back is hurt," suggested Harry Zach- 
ary, gently, " I reckon the doctors will have to 
cut out his backbone, maybe, or amputate both 
his legs." 

" Pop says that little Jimmy is going to have 
a close call," Cissy Smith declared, conscious 
of the advantage he had in being the doctor's 

" A call, eh ? " Harry Zachary returned. 
" Well, I reckon he 's right. We ought to go 
over and see how he is this morning." 

" Pop says he is n't any better," Cissy Smith 

" We 're not calling to find out how he is, I)ut 
just out of manners," explained Harry. 

" Then come along," replied Cissy, lurching 
ahead in his usual rolling gait. 

" And when they tell him we 've been there," 
Tom interjected, " perhaps it will make him feel 

" Do you suppose that they will really cut off 
his legs ? " asked Lott. 

" Corkscrew would n't like to have his legs 
cut off," Tom remarked, at large, " because he 
' keeps his brains in his boots.' " 

The boys greeted with a hearty laugli this 
allusion to a recent remark of one of the school- 
teachers about Lott — a remark which was 
nearer the truth than the teacher suspected. 

Lott's insatiate curiosity did not extend to 
his lessons at school. In these he took no in- 
terest whatever. He rarely studied. In his 
recitations he relied on the help of the boys 
who might be next to him and on even less 
lawful aids. He had picked up a key to the 
arithmetic used in the school ; and this illegal 
assistant to recitation he used to take into class 
with him every day ; at least, he took with 
him the one or two pages containing the an- 
swers needed in the lesson of the day. These 
loose leaves he concealed in a secret place 
ble only to himself, — for no one else wore such 
tall boots. The tops of these boots projected 
above his knees when he sat down ; and behind 

TOM I'.XL'I.DING. 595 

the shields thus erected Corkscrew placed the 
needed pages of the key. The room in which 
arithmetic was taught was overcrowded ; and 
Corkscrew's recent sudden growth, and his 
strange habit of twisting about, and his enor- 
mous boots, all made him conspicuous. It was 
as if he was taking up more than his share of 
the room. The teacher especially disliked the 
boots, and various remarks were directed against 
them. The last of these remarks was to the 
effect that " there is no use saying anything 
more about Lott's boots ; he will not part with 
them ; I believe he keeps his brains in 

When Tom Paulding recalled this remark of 
the teacher's, Lott did not like it. But he could 
think of no other retort than to say, " You are 
ever so smart, you are ! " 

As Tom failed to reply to this taunt, it seemed 
less effective than Corkscrew could have de- 

The boys had now come to the brow of the 
hill down which they were to coast. 

In default of any more cutting response to 
the remark about the boots, Lott seized Tom's 
cap and threw it as far as he could down the 

If Tom Paulding had not made Corkscrew 
angry by an unprovoked allusion, he would not 
have exposed himself to this sudden exhibition 
of his own head with its adornment of little 
twists of paper — all unknown to Tom himself. 

" Who curled your hair ? " asked Cissy, when 
the cap was plucked from Tom's head. 

" What do you mean ? " cried Tom, partly to 
Lott and partly to Cissy. 

By this time Lott, who had been watching the 
cap as it circled through the air and then slid 
along the glassy surface of the slide, had caught 
sight of the half-dozen bits of paper which be- 
decked Tom's head. 

" Ah, ha ! " he cried, '• I told you Tom put his 
hair up in paper!" 

" I don't," said Tom. 

"Don't you?" shouteil Lott forcibly. "You 
tell that to a blind man. We can see for our- 

" I never curled my hair in my life ! " Tom 

"Then who put it u[> in paper for you this 


morning, Tom ? " was Corkscrew's triumphant 

InvoknUarily I'om raised his hnnil to his 
head, and he felt the httle twists of paper. The 
boys laughed, — even Cissy Smith, Tom's best 
friend, and not an admirer of Lett's, joined in 
the merriment. Tom felt his face burning red 
as he pulled out the papers. 

Then he turned to Lett. 



after it ends in an appeal to arms — and fists. 
The battle between Tom Paulding and Cork- 
screw Lott began promptly, and, for a while, its 
issue was in doubt. Lott was older than Tom, 
and taller and heavier ; but, of late, he had been 
growing beyond his strength. 

In the end, Tom had the best of it. But 
Corkscrew did not go after Tom's cap. This 
gage of battle had been brought back by one of 

" Go get my cap," he said angrily. 

" I won't," answered Lott. " If you had n 't 
said anything about my boots, I should n't have 
touched your cap. And I 'm glad I did now, 
for I 've shown everybody how you get your 
pretty curls." 

"Will you get that cap?" repeated Tom. 

" No, I won't," Lott replied. 

''Then I '11 make you," said Tom. 

" I 'd like to see you do it," was I.,ott's retort 
— although this was exactly what he would not 
like to see. 

There is no need to describe a boys' quarrel 

the smaller boys during a pause in the fight. So 
it happened that Tom's was but a barren vic- 
tory — like nearly all those a boy gains except 
when he conquers himself 

Lott and several friends of his went away to 
coast down another hill. Tom, when he had 
recovered his wind and stanched his wounds, 
joined in the sport with Cissy and Harry 

But when he left the slide and went home to 
his dinner, he bore with him the scars of war in 
the shape of a swollen face and an unmistaka- 
ble black eye. 



CiiAPTiiR XV. brothers would ha\e liked a hit, a-comin' l)a(k 

from a fair in Killaloe, or a wake, or any other 

Tom was following the Brilliant Conversation- 
alist into the kitchen, when Pauline came dan- 
cing out into the hall. 

" Oh, Tom," she cried, " what do you think ? 
We 've three new kittens, one black, and one 
white with a black eye, and one all gray — ever 
so pretty. And marmee says I may keep the 
gray one, and I 'm going to. The one that 's 
white with the black eye is smaller and cun- 
ninger, but I don't like a white kitten with a 
black eye, do you? It looks just as if it had 
been fighting, and of course it has n't yet, for 
it 's only two hours old." 

Tom smiled grimly. " I 'd keep the one with 
the black eye," he said, as he followed Katie 
into the kitchen, " and you might call it after 
me." And with that he turned his head so that 
she could see his face. 

"Oh, Tom!" Polly exclaimed. "You look 
w^orse than the kitten — ever so much worse! " 

" Perhaps," said Tom, dolefully, " when the 
kitten gets a little older, you will put its tail up 
in curl-papers ; and then it will go out, and come 
back again with a black eye bigger than mine." 

" It would be cruel to twist up a cat's tail ! " 
.she declared. 

" Was n't it cruel to let me go out with my 
hair in curl-papers ? " he rejoined. 

" Did you ? " she cried penitently. " Oh, Tom, 
I 'm so sorry ! I did n't mean to. I never 
thought. I '11 never do it again ; I '11 be so good 
next time. I don't see how I ever came to do 
it. Won't you forgive me this time ? " 

Tom made haste to forgive her when he saw 
how sorrowful she looked. 

Then the Brilliant Conversationalist came 
with a bit of raw beef and placed this to the in- 
jured eye and tied it tight with Tom's handker- 
chief bound about his head. 

"There," she said, "that'll draw out the 
poison for you. Now tell us about the fight. 
Did ye bate the head off the villain ? " 

Then Tom, half pleased and half ashamed, 
told his sister and Katie all about the combat 
with Corkscrew Lott. 

" Oh, Tom ! " Pauline cried suddenly, " what 
will marmee say?" 


OM did not quite 
know what to do 
about his black eye. 
He knew that his 
mother would see 
it, and then she 
would be sure to 
ask him about it, 
and he would have 
to tell her the 
whole story. That she would not approve of 
the fight Tom felt sure ; and he was a little in 
doubt whether he himself quite approved of it. 
He had often thought that sooner or later he 
and Corkscrew would have to " have it out " ; 
and if the combat had been really inevitable, 
he was glad that it was over and that he had 
not come out of it second-best. But even in 
the glow of victory, he did not feel altogether 
satisfied with the way in which war had been 
declared nor with his own conduct in the begin- 
ning. His reference to Lott's keeping his brains 
in his boots was altogether uncalled for. It is 
true that Corkscrew's throwing of the cap down- 
hill had slight justification. But, all the same, 
Tom had an uneasy consciousness that the real 
cause of the anger that had burned so fiercely 
in his breast was in great measure the keen 
mortification arising from the disclosure of his 
hair curled up in paper. And Tom knew that 
it was Polly who had bedecked his head with 
twists of paper, and not Corkscrew. Still they 
would never have been seen had it not been 
for Corkscrew. And so, after all — 

Tom had gone thus far in the examination 
of his conscience when he reached home. 

.\s the Careful Katie opened the door, she 
caught sight of the black eye. 

"Oh, Master Tom!" she cried, "is it in a 
fight ye 've been ? " 

" Yes," Tom answered. " I 've been in a 

" Come into the kitchen, then," she went on 
heartily, " and I '11 give ye a bit of beefsteak to 
put on yer eye. An' ye can tell me all about 
the fight the while. Sure, beefsteak is the wan 
thing for a black eye. It 's many a time me 


" I don't know," replied I'om, doubtfully. 
" She won't like it." 

" Shall I go and break the news to her gently, 
as they do in the story-books?" suggested his 

" No," Tom answered ; " I 'd better tell her 

" I '11 go with you," Pauline persisted ; " and 
I 'II tell her it was all my fault." 

" No," Tom replied again, " I 'd better go 

So he took heart of grace, and went up to 
his mother's room and placed before her the 
whole story; not trying to shield hitnself, but as 
well as he could telling the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth. 

Mrs. Paulding was a wise mother. She saw 
that her son had been punished ; she did not re- 
proach him, but she spoke to him gently, and 
when she had ceased speaking Tom had made 
up his mind never to get into another fight. 
Then she kissed him, and they went down to- 
gether to their early dinner. 

That evening, when Uncle Dick returned, the 
whole story had to be gone over once more. It 
is to be recorded with regret that Mr. Rapallo 
laughed heartily when he heard about the curls 
which Polly put up in paper and which Cork- 
screw revealed accidentally. 

" Best keep out of a fight if you can," he said 
when he had heard the full details; " but if you 
must fight, go in to win." 

"I don't think I shall go in again," Tom de- 
clared, looking up at his mother with an affec- 
tionate glance, which would have been more 
etifective if the black eye had not been still 
covered by the bit of beefsteak and the hand- 

" Sure if he goes to a wake, any dacent l)oy 
may have to swing his shillalah about a bit," 
the Careful Katie remarked, as she left the room 
for the preserves. 

" The Brilliant Conversationalist is in favor 
of a free fight," Uncle Dick declared. "But 1 '11 
give you a Spanish proverb better than her 
Hibernian advice — and there is no more hon- 
orable race than the Spanish, and no one is more 
punctilious than a Spaniard. Yet they have a 
saying, ' It is the man who returns the first l)low 
who begins the (luarrel.' " 



After supper, Mrs. Paulding and Pauline 
went up-stairs, leaving Mr. Rapallo and Tom 
alone together. 

"1 've been looking up the ownership of that 
property where you think your guineas are," 
said Uncle Dick. 

" Did you find out ? " Tom asked eagerly. 

" I found that the land is in dispute," his 
uncle replied. "The title to it is doubtful, and 
there has been a lawsuit about it in the courts 
now for nearly ten years." 

" But it must belong to some one," Tom 

" It 's likely to belong to the lawyers, if 
this litigation does n't stop soon," Uncle Dick 
answered. Then he explained how it was : 

" The case seems to be complicated ; there 
was an assignment of some sort made by the 
original owner fifty years ago ; and now there 
are two mortgages and two wills, and half a 
dozen codicils. And all the parties are angry, 
and there is ' blood on the moon.' So I 'm 
afraid that when we get ready to dig for that 
buried treasure, we shall have to do it without 
asking anybody's permission. In the first place, 
we don't know whom to ask ; and in the second 
place, whoever we ask would surely suspect us 
of coming from one of the other parties, and 
would not only refuse but perhaps set a guard 
on the property or have detectives watch us." 

" Oh!" said Tom, and he was conscious of a 
certain swelling pride at the possibility that there 
might be a detective " on his track," as he 
phrased it. 

" Of course," Mr. Rapallo continued, " as 
long as the frost 's in the ground there is no 
use in our trying to do anything. In the 
mean while, you will say nothing." 

" Not even to Cissy Smith ? " Tom urged, 
aware of the delight that he would have in 
imparting this real mystery to his friend. 

" Not even to anybody," Uncle Dick an- 
swered. " If Cissy were to tell some one, you 
could n't blame him for not keejHng the secret 
you could n't keep yourself." 

Tom felt the force of this reasoning, but he 
regretted that his uncle thought it best not to 
tell Cissy. Tom felt sure of Cissy's discretion, 
and he longed to have some one w'ith whom 
to talk over the buried treasure. Thus early in 

life Tom was made to see the wisdom in tiie 
saying of the philosopher, that a secret is a 
most undesirable property, for " if you tell it, 
you have n't got it; and if you don't tell it, you 
lose the interest on the investment." 

The next afternoon, as Tom was coming back 
from asking how little Jimmy W'igger was get- 
ting on, he saw Mr. Rapallo standing on the 
stoop of Mr. Joshua HotTmann's house talking 
to the old gentleman he had before seen lean- 
ing over the wall. Tom supposed that the Old 
Gentleman who leaned over the Wall, as he 
called him in his own mind, was probably Mr. 
Hoftmann himself, but he was not (juite sure 
of it. 

Once again before New Year's Day, Tom 
saw his uncle in conference with the Old 
Gentleman who leaned over the V\^^ll. Tom 
noticed that about this time Mr. Rapallo was a 
little more restless than usual ; and then again 
that he would sink into frequent fits of thought- 
ful silence. 

On New Year's morning, Mr. Rapallo caught 
Tom's eye, after Tom had spoken twice without 
bringing him out of his silent abstraction. 

" I beg your pardon, Tom," he said ; " I was 
thinking. The fact is, I 've got the idea of a 
litde invention buzzing in my head, and I keep 
turning it over and over, and looking at it on all 
sides, even when I ought to be doing something 
else — eating my breakfast, for example." 

They were then at their morning meal ; and 
just at that moment the shrill whisUe of the 
postman was heard. 

" There does be only one letter-man this 
mornin', I 'm thinkin'," said the Brilliant Con- 
versationalist, as she went out to see what the 
postman had for them. 

" There may be a letter for me," Uncle Dick 
remarked, " that will take me away to-night." 

" You are not going to leave us ? " cried Polly. 

" I may have to go," her uncle answered. 

" Where ? " she asked. 

"On a journey — to lots of places," he replied. 

" How long will you be gone ? " .she went on. 

'• I don't know. Two or three months, per- 
haps," he answered. Then, catching Tom's in- 
quiring glance, he added, " I shall be back by 


the time the frost is out of the ground. 1 'ni 
like a bad penny, I 'm sure to turn up again." 

"You are not a bad penny at all," said Polly, 
with emphasis. " You are as good as gold, and 
a penny is only copper. And if you have to 
go, we shall all miss you very, very much ! " 
Then she got up and walked around the table 
and kissed her uncle on the cheek. 

Katie returned and gave Uncle Dick the onl\- 
letter she had in her hand. 

" The letter-man says he does n't lie coniin' 
here again to-day, mum, but ye can give him 
his New Year's in the mornin'," she reported. 

"Must you go?" asked Mrs. Paulding, who 
had watched her brother's face as he read the 

"Yes. I must start this afternoon at the 
latest," he answered. "It is to see a man about 
this little invention of mine. If he likes it. we 
shall work it out together. Then, when I come 
back in the spring, Mary, I hope to bring you 
that Christmas present I owe you." 

When Mr. Rapallo left the house, about twelve 
o'clock, Tom went with him to the nearest ele- 
vated-railroad station. Uncle Dick did not w alk 
this time, as he had a heavy bag to carry. 

After Mr. Rapallo and Tom had stepped 
down upon the sidewalk, from the flight of 
wooden steps leading from the street up to the 
rocky crest on which the house was perched, 
they saw Cissy Smith. He was coming eagerly 
toward them. 

" Have you heard the news about little 
Jimmy?" asked Cissy. 

" No," Tom replied. "What is it ?" 

" He died this morning early," Cissy con- 
tinued. " Father w-as there. Little Jimmy did 
not suffer any. And he could n't ever have 
been strong again." 

" Poor little chap I " said Tom, thinking of 
the eagerness of the little fellow as he had fol- 
lowed Tom about ready to do his bidding, what- 
ever it might be. 

" The years bring joy to some and sorrow to 
others," Mr. Rapallo remarked gently ; " but it 
is a sad house to which Death pays a New 
Year's call." 

( To be coHiitiued. ) 

{The oU skifpo /aitly "thritU" little Ben:'\ 

WAS in '65, my little cove, 
As I recollects, the day 
We ships our cargo, with nary embargo. 
An' sails from Ja-m.a-ki-a. 

Then it 's yo, heave ho 1 an' it 's heave agin ! 

An' the wind a-blowin' free! 
With plenty o' 'baccy to last, by crackey, 

A sailor's life for me ! 

Sorghum 'lasses our cargo was; 

Our ship the " Sassy Jane " ; 
No rakisher sailin', an' she a-haihn' 

From Kennebunk, down in Maine. 


An' we have n't been more than two days out. 
When the duff don't seem to please ; 

There ain't the richness of raisins an' sichness, 
So we ups an' we mutinies. 


60 I 

The cap'n, the fust, an' secun' mate, 

The grizzled old bos'n, too 
(Fur One-eye Slover, the cook, come over), 

An' agin 'em the hull ship's crew 1 

An' a terrible, bloodthirsty, willainous crew, 

As could n' t be possible wuss ; 
Which the sair.e wore ear-rings to help their hearings, 

An' was tattooed promiscuous 1 

"7 I — . ' Then it 's pippety-pop, an' bang away, 
^pj^' An' it's cut an' it's come agin, 

With balls a-shriekin', an' knives a-reekin'. 
Till sullen-like they gives in ! ..^ , 

An' then, a-knowin' they 'd be picked up 

If we set the hull lot afloat, 
We makes 'em risk it with plain sea-biscuit 

I;, a leaky old jolly-boat. 





||;'' Then up tho bonny black flag we runs, 
A-beginnin' of desp'rit lives, 

'^^ An' the m.utiny-breeder we 'lects as leader, 
An' kivers oursel's with knives. 




^ iuU many a gallant merchantm'n, 

A-loaded with shiny gold, 
We lights a duel, an' takes most cruel, 
aM/ An' lightens up of its hold. 

Eut sometimes we gets a-thinkin', nights. 

As we sails upon our course, 
^(\'^\ We aint of recent been actin' decent, 
VV An' we has what vou calls remorse. 

An' all of a sudden we quar'ly grows, 

A-achin' each other to strike; 
There was two begin it, then more comes in it. 

An' soon it is gen'ral-like. 

A fight as lasted three days an' nights, 

An' as bad as ever I see. 
Not once a-stoppin', an' men a-droppin". 

Till all that was left was mel 


An', with all that valible treasure mine, 
A tempest comes down at last, 
'-^- An' I keeps on sailin', an' bailin' an' bailin', 
Eut the wessel 's a-fillin' fast. 


So with a hen-coop over I jumps, 

An' on it 1 floats a week, 
Till I makes an island, an' gets on dry 

So hoarse I kin just but speak. 





An' there fur eight long years i stays, 

A-drinkin' of misery's dregs, 
With no one near me to try an' cheer me. 

An' nourished on penguins' eggs. 

Eight weary, dreary, teary years, 

An' bihousy-hke an' pale ; 
Fur comp'ny sighin', an' rags a-fiyin' 

A-tryin' to catch a sail 1 

But, when I'm a-givin' up hope at las;. 

A wessel it heaves in sight, 
An' I cooks up a story that 's noways goiy, 

Explainin' of m.y sad plight. 

'nourished on penguins eggs. 

An' many "s an' many 's the time since then 
I 've sat me dov/n to weep, 
_^^^I^ To think of them m.illions — I may say billions — 
^^^ A hundred 0' fathoms deep ! 


Fur, with what I've got, m.y little cove. 

At the bottom, of the sea. 
Your miUionaires, v/ith their bonds an' shares. 

Are n't a sarkumstance 'long 0' me! 


By E. Vinton Blake. 

I 'i.L own, boys, it 's funny to consider a 
horse in the light of a nurse ; I never before 
heard of an equine nurse, but in this case I 
think " Rangoon " contributed largely to the 
recovery of a sick patient. 

That patient was myself 

You see, I had been almost used up by the 
indiscriminate hugging of a too demonstrative 
bear. It was one of the few cases where the 
hunter turns out to be the hunted. If I had 
been on Rangoon's back, now, instead of lying 
in ambush among those rocks — but that is 
neither here nor there. 

After the struggle was over, and my friend 
Will — who had come to the rescue — had re- 
vived me, and I had sat up and discovered that 
my hunting shirt and leggings were in strips 
and I was covered with scratches from head to 
foot, we held a short but serious council. 

" This is a pretty go ! " said he. 

"Just so," said I. 

" Whatever possessed you to tackle that mon- 
ster alone, and you on foot," said he, " passes 
my understandin'. But howsomever, here you 
are, and Martin's ranch sixty miles to the 

" I was a bit careless, that 's true," said I. 
" Nevertheless, Martin's ranch it is. Bring the 

" Like 's not you won't live to get there," 
grumbled Will, who always made a point of 
speaking his mind. 

" Yes, I shall, too, you old growler," said I. 

I did. But when I was fairly got to bed 
by horrified Mr. and Mrs. Martin, and all the 
household were flying about with bandages, 
remedies, and what not, the strain of excite- 
ment and resolve that had upheld me in the 
long, painful journey suddenly gave way, and 
I went into a dead faint. I suppose I was a very 
sick man. Many a day passed thereafter, of 
which I took no note. The first tliinss I remem- 

ber, when the fever abated, and I began to real- 
ize the outer world again, were the golden curls 
and tender face of little Millie Martin, the sweet 
scent of flowers she brought for my table, the 
low songs she sang all by herself on the plat- 
form outside my window. Many a day I lay 
there, very weak, and watched the glint of sun- 
light through the dark chintz curtains, as I lis- 
tened to the tuneful childish voice. 

The Martins were Eastern people, who settled 
there when Millie was a mere baby ; and she 
was now nearly eight. The house stood on 
stilts, as it were, on five-foot logs, and a rough 
platform ran around it ; there were some out- 
buildings ; and the whole was inclosed by a high 
adobe wall. There was also a corral for the 
horses, where they were kept except in severe 

My first thought, when I got my brains once 
more in thinking order, was — Rangoon. When 
I inquired for him, they sent Will Grant in to 
see me. That worthy entered gingerly, as one 
who treads on eggs, sat on the edge of a chair, 
pushed back his sombrero, and put his hands 
on his knees to contemplate me. A broad 
smile began to spread over his face. 

"What the dickens are you laughing at?" 
inquired I. I was a little bit cross. 

"When would ye like to hunt another bear?" 
said he. 

" Will, you 're an old rascal," said I. " I '11 
have vengeance on the whole race of bears 
by and by. What have you done with my 
horse ? " 

" Wal," said Will Grant, " there hain't no- 
body been able to do nothin' with him far 
as I know. He knows you 're in this house 
somewhere, and he hangs around, grazin' here 
and there on the perarie, and comin' to me for 
a feed of corn. He won't lei nobody else come 
nigh him." 

Will sat for a moment, and began to laugh. 


'• He 'n' I had a lively tussle the other day. I 
was bouml I 'd ride him down to Navarosa — 
just a little jaunt for to exercise him, ye know. 
So I got him all saddled and bridled peaceable 
enough, and was sort o' smilin' to myself as to 
how well he was behavin', ye see; and I got 
on all right and said good-by to old Martin 
and Joe, and started. Wal, he kind o' hesi- 
tated, looked all about, and 'parently thought 
you were a-comin', somewhere. Then he went 


Joe laughin' and hollerin' fit to die. When 
he stopped again I was ready for him, and he 
did n't throw me ; but I got oft' then of my own 
accord, and concluded he 'n' I w ould n't get to together." 

Weak as I was, I was shaking with laughter 
when W'ill made an end. " Never mind," said I ; 
" I 'm going to get out on the platform in a few 
days, and I '11 be right glad to see him again." 

Three days therefrom, I sat bolstered up on 

about fifty yards, and seemed of a sudden to 
get it through him that he 'n' I were on a trip 
'long of ourselves. Then he started, and I 
never was flown about quite so lively before, in 
my born days. He went like a mad streak for 
a ways, then brought up as short as a post. 
Well, sir, /went on, as fur as I could, and when 
I landed, it war n't in the best order. 1 picked 
myself up tearin' mad. I went back to him, and 
he was lookin' the innocentest, with his two ears 
pricked forward a-starin' at me, as if 't war n't 
his fault at all. He let me get on again, the 
sweetest-tempered you ever see, and then he 
bolted back again for the corral at the top of 
his bent, and in he went, with old Martin anil 

the platform, enjoying the fresh morning, the 
sunny prairie that stretched beyond the wall to 
the belt of oaks by the Navarosa River, the 
blue beauty of the western mountains on the far 

" Hain't seen Rangoon sence last night," said 
Will Grant. " He would n't be corraled, and 
kicked up his heels so like all possessed that I 
told him to clear out; and he cleared." 

I drew from my pocket a small silver whistle 
that I used when my brave horse strayed to 
some distance and I wished to recall him. It 
shrilled sweet and clear on the breezy morning, 
and I waited. No Rangoon. 

Three times I blew, and then began seriously 




to question whether the patience of my four- 
footed friend had not given out during the long 
days of waiting, with never a word from the 
master he loved ; and whether he had not for- 
saken — hark ! 

'• Somethin' 's a-comin'," said Will, concisely, 
with his ear to the ground. 

"There 's more than one," he added, a mo- 
ment after, and came uj) the long, broad flight 
of wooden steps to the platform, wlience he 
could see beyond the wall. 

Straight down over the long swell between 
the ranch and the river, mane and tail afloat on 
the wind, came Rangoon in a wild, headlong 
gallop ; and behind, urging their agile ponies to 
furious speed, lasso in hand ready for a throw, 
rode Sakona, a young Apache chief, and three 
of his braves. I knew Sakona by sight, and, it 
seems, he knew me even better. 

Wild fellows are the Apaches ; I believe they 
have a reservation now ; but if they keep upon it 
they have changed greatly from what they were 
when I knew them. 

" There 's some o' them plaguy redskins ! " 
said Joe Martin. A general, rapid, quiet note of 
preparation ran through the large, busy house- 
hold. One of the peons drove the milch-cows 
and the horses from the yard to the corral, and 


fastened the heavy, solid gate. Every man 
looked to his arms, for no one knew how many 
Apaches might lurk in that belt of oaks by the 

Will Cjrant ijridled his roan in haste. He 

muttered angrily, "The Apache rascal knows 
that boss. He knows better 'n that! " He flung 
himself on, bareback, and was off at a gallop 
through the gates toward the advancing In- 
dians, shouting as he went a perfect torrent of 
threats and abuse in the Navajo tongue, which 
Sakona must have been deaf not to understand. 
The lassos were poised, — the Indians hesi- 
tated. Rangoon still held his course at head- 
long speed for the gates. I blew my whistle 
again ; I was e.\cited just then. He saw me and 
neighed wildly. I sat down on the edge of the 
platform as he came near. He was crazy with 
delight, and thrust his head up to me to be 
caressed. He even reared, as if meditating a 
spring upon the platform. But I restrained him 
with a word. I was yet weak. Presently he 
detected the change, the weakness in me. He 
snufted curiously at my hands, my arms, as I 
half reclined on the edge of the platform. He 
thrust his pink nose into my face with an anxious 
whinny, as if to say, " What ails you ? " 

" I think he 's sorry for you ; don't you, Mr. 
Ransom ? " said little Millie. 

Sakona and his braves had stopped in a group 

on the prairie. Will Grant's gestures, as he 

talked to them, were extremely forcible ; and it 

was plain that he was laying down the law in 

emphatic fashion, about 

running off another man's 


" They 're all comin' 
here, anyway," observed 
Joe, after a pause. It 
was plain Sakona was 
going to brave it out. 
■•' ^, " He rode into the yard, 

^—~^ ■ dismounted, came up on the 

platform, and nodded to me. 
" Hud d' ye?" said the Apache, laconi- 
cally. He could speak English very well. 

'• How are you, Sakona ? I saw you at Fort 
Mescaleros six months ago." 

Sakona nodded, and his quick eye ran over 
Rangoon, who stood with his head against my 

" White man been .sick ? " 
" I'retty sick, Sakona. Too much bear." I 
drew my finger lightly over the scars on wrist 
and cheek. The Apache smiled grimly. 




" He '11 get well scion," s:uil (Irant. " He has 
a good nurse," with a little gesture toward 

" What you take for him ? " said Sakona. 

" Money can't buy that horse," I answered, 
a trifle shortly ; " lassos can't catch him, and 
no man can ride him but myself." 

Sakona grunted, but said nothing. Presently 
the Indians went away. We watched them out 
of sight behind the timber. 

From that day Rangoon haunted the house. 
He grazed about the yard, or careered wildly 
in at one gate and out the other; he scrambled 
up the steps and promenaded with sounding 
hoofs on the platform. Every day he waited for 
my appearance, and came to be petted, and to 
rub his head on my shoulder ; every night he 
submitted to be corraled by Will Grant. 

Nevertheless, getting well was tedious busi- 
ness. My friend Will Grant was determined I 
should not forget that : scarce a day passed but 
I received sly thrusts concerning bears and am- 
Ijushments ; and he e.xpressed great fear lest my 
city habits were creeping back upon me — " sich 
as goin' ter sleep, nights, with both eyes shut, 
which we don't do out here; and goin' bear- 
huntin' after grizzlies on yer own feet instead 
of yer horse's." 

Presently I was able to dispense with pil- 
lows, and to walk down the steps by myself And 
then one day Will was scandalized by finding 
Rangoon standing like a post close to the plat- 
form, while his master, sound asleep, rested his 
head and shoulders on Rangoon's back. He 
showed his teeth in a vicious snap as Will ap- 
proached, but otherwise preserved immovable 
rigidity of body, lest he should upset me. Will 
had been down to Navarosa after the mail. 
His loud accents awoke me. 

"Wal — say! Be ye ever goin' to open your 
eyes ? I shall have to teach ye hunter's craft 
all over again if ye sleep this fashion. I call 
that imposin' on a cre'tur's good natur'! — ridin' 
him daytimes and likewise usin' him for a bed. 
Here 's some letters for ye ! " 

Then I aroused myself, and sat on the steps 
to read them. From Herries, Hexam, and my 
old friend the hunter, Simon Casey. The old 
hunter's handwriting was cramped and peculiar. 

"Mr. Ransom,"— thus ran the hunter's let- 


ter, — "I here by Bill you are nerely well, 
and this is to informe you that Mr. Herries 
and Mr. Hexam and me will be at East Gorge 
the furst of SejJtembar, and exspect you and 
liill will meet jis. I hop to get thare by the 
third day at the latest onless we shood eny of 
us get claw'd by a bare as Bill tells me you did. 

Simon Casev. 

P. S. We can take that trip into new Mexsico 
now as well as not, and throo the lower mountens. 

S. C." 

My blood quickened as 1 read. I had been 
inactive so long; and the trip was one I had 
looked forward to as soon as Casey's leisure 
should permit. We should be all together again. 
Herries and Hexam, my two New York friends, 
who were out for the benefit of their health, 
had been overland to Los Angeles with Casey, 
while I had preferred to go hunting among the 
mountains with Will. 

" Wal," said the latter, " ye look pleased. Go- 
in' to get well straight away, are ye ? What 's 
the old man write ? " 

I told him. "It is now the loth of July. 
There's plenty of time for me to get in order. 
I '11 do it. Will, and I '11 ride Rangoon to- 
morrow ! " 

" I 've always heerd," remarked the guide, 
beginning to edge cautiously out of the way, 
" that people had better be slow and sure that 
go a-huntin' grizzlies afoot and take no com- 
mon sense along with 'em — " 

Here a vigorously flung shoe came within an 
inch of his head, and he dodged around the 
comer, putting his nose back to observe, " But 
then, as 1 told that .Apache, )'ou 've had a good 
nurse ! " 

I looked up at Rangoon. J remembered that 
he had scarcely been outside the wall since the 
day I was first brought out on the platform. 
He pricked up his ears at Will Grant. I put 
my arm over his neck. 

" My brave old fellow," said I, •• I '11 live on 
one meal a day before you and I shall part. If 
I had stuck to you, instead of leaving you away 
back in the bushes, the bear would never have 
got a claw on me, eh, Rangoon ? " 

He answered by a low whinny. Who will say 
he did not understand me ? 


By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

JrsT a little every day, 

That 's the way 
Seeds in darkness swell and grow, 
Tiny blades push through the snow. 
Never any flower of May 
Leaps to blossom in a burst. 
Slowly — slowly — at the first. 

That 's the w ay ! 
Just a little every day. 

Just a little every day, 

That 's the way ! 
Children learn to read and write, 
Bit by bit, and mite by mite. 
Never any one, I say, 
Leaps to knowledge and its [jower. 
Slowly — slowly — hour by hour. 

That 's the way ! 
Just a little every day. 


By Howard Bunch. 

" And mind what I told you about not going 
overboard ! " said Captain Chandler, as the long 
whaleboat left the side of the whaling-schooner 
" Crocker," which was anchored under the lee 
of a little island in the Caribbean Sea. 

"Yes, sir," meekly answered Dick Thorn, 
who, as youngest of the crew, generally pulled 
stroke -oar — that being the lightest and easiest 
to handle — in the captain's boat. 

The entire ship's company were going ashore 
after lire-wood; but Dick, having a blistered 
hand, resulting from a twenty-mile pull on the 
previous day, had, to his secret joy, been left 

Like most of the smaller islands in the Carib- 
bean Sea, the neighboring islet had no harbor- 
age. Ve.ssels come to anchor under the lee of 
such places, and lie with mainsail up, ready to 
get under way at the first indication of a change 
of wind. 

Dick sat contentedly watching the boats as 
they disappeared around the nearest point, 
where there w as a sort of inlet or cove, in which 
wreck-stuff and driftwood were usually found in 

" Oh, it seems so gootl to be alone just for a 
little while ! " said Dick, half aloud, with a great 
sigh of relief 

He w-as utterly wearied of the constant rough 
companionship of the past three months; but for 
his surroundings he had only himself to blame. 

His was the repetition of an old .story. .\ 
good home and over-indulgent parents, indis- 
criminate, trashy reading, giving false views of 
Hfe, — of sea life in particular, — a running away, 
a vain quest for work as a " cabin-boy," and, 
as a final result, shipping as a 'fore-mast hand 
in a Provincetown whaler. 

All these scenes came to Dick's mind as he 
sat on the after-house, swinging his bare feet to 
and fro, and watching the setting sun. 

" Oh, if I only live to get back to father and 
mother ! " thought Dick to himself, as a great 
sob rose in his throat. He arose abruptly and 
walked to the vessel's side. 

The gangway had been unshipped for the bet- 
ter reception of the drittwood when it should 
arrive, and Dick gazed abstractedly outboard. 

The sea-bree/.e was dying away. Far and 
wide the surface of tlie Caribbean Sea lay re- 

■69=] dick's dive. 609 

fleeting the rays of the setting sun, with hardly Chandler wishing that he could run across a 
a ripple on its dark, steely-blue surface. good big sponge, growing within reach of the 

The gnats and sand-flies were enjoying the boat-hook. And though the cajjtain was some- 
heat, as they came in great swarms from the times really harsh with him, — especially when 
beach, a cable's-length distant, where there were Dick, with his heart in his mouth, was pulling 
tiny breakers which fell 
with a cooling sound. 
Hut the insects were en- 
joying life far better 
than Dick enjoyed them. 

There were about 
three fathoms and a 
half of water under the 
Crocker's keel ; and as 
Dick turned his gaze 
downward he saw the 
anchor a little way oft", 
with one of its flukes 
pardy embedded in 
the powdered coral, 
than which not even 
snow can be whiter. 

This, together with 
the clearness and re- 
fracting power of the 
water, made the objects 
upon the bottom seem 
almost within reach. 
Beautifully colored fi>l! 
swam to and fro amon_ 
the strange forms ol 
marine growth in thi^ 
little garden-spot be- 
longing by right to 
Father Neptune. 

Scattered here and 
there were shells, with 
their li\ing inmates 
making scrawly pat- 
terns in the powdered 
coral as they slowly 
moved from place to 

There were tritons, and " spine-cups," pink- 
lipi)ed conch, and many tinted ray-shells, mer- 
maid's-combs, and sea-fans without number, to 
say nothing of others, of whose names Dick had 
no idea. But what took his attention most was 
a huge sponge, attached to the bottom. 

Only the day before, Dick had heard Ca]>tain 
Vol. XIX. — 39. 


the best "stroke" he knew how-, while the light 
boat was topping the long seas in eager pursuit 
of a "fifty -barrel humpback" whale, — he was 
kind to the boy as a rule, and Dick tried to 
please him. 

" I don't believe he 'd mind my going over- 
IxKinl if I ( (nild bring up that sponge," said 



Dick, looking longingly into the cool depths. 
For Dick was like a young water-spaniel, and 
could swim or dive better than any boy in his 
native seaboard town. 

But since the Crocker had been in this 
particular locality Captain Chandler had for- 
bidden the men to go in bathing, except when 
they could go in from shore ; for in the deeper 
water about the reefs, the great gray-and-white 
man-eating sharks were plentiful. 

This was a severe deprivation to Dick, who 
would not have hesitated to go overboard in 
mid-ocean. Indeed, he had done so more than 
once when the schooner was becalmed ; and he 
inwardly rebelled against the Captain's decree. 

" If there were sharks around, I could see a 
back-fin any distance, in this calm," he thought, 
as he looked out over the glassy surface of 
the sea. 

And without stopping to argue with himself, 
off went hat, blue drilling shirt, and overalls, 
and in less than ten seconds Dick stood in the 
gangway ready for the dive. 

Drawing one long breath, Dick took a splen- 
did header, and clove the water like a pointed 
stpne. Down, down, toward the object of his 
quest he rapidly swam, but the great transpa- 
rency of the water had misled him as to its 
depth, and when he touched the sponge's slimy 
surface, he was well-nigh spent of breath. 

Despite the pressure on his chest and strange 
singing in his ears, he seized the .sponge at the 
base, and, bracing his feet firmly on the bottom, 
gave a mighty tug which partially uprooted it. 

But even in the act, suddenly he was con- 
scious of a dark shadow directly overhead. 
" The boat," was his first thought ; " a cloud," 
the second. Then he glanced upward, and be- 
tween himself and the waning daylight was that 
most dreaded of sights — a huge gray shark, at 
least seventeen feet long, curving with gently 
moving fins directly above him, and about two 
feet beneath the water's surface. 

Small chance is there to think clearly and 
quickly when the heart is already beginning to 
beat spasmodically, and one is internally gasping 
for air in eighteen feet of water. But as Dick 
gave a final mechanical tug and u])rootc(l the 

sponge, the schooner swung slowly over him, 
and the shark as slowly moved aside. 

Shoving with his feet against the bottom, 
Dick arose like a flash to the surface on the 
side of the vessel's keel opposite to that on which 
the shark lay ; and, grasping the main channels 
with a convulsive clutch, he managed somehow 
to drag himself up, still retaining his hold on the 
sponge. But he was not a second too soon ; 
the great monster had followed him beneath 
the keel with a swiftness peculiar to the spe- 
cies when in pursuit of prey ; and the vicious 
snap of its jaws was plainly heard by Dick, as 
he scrambled over the schooner's edge, and 
dropped in a half-fainting condition upon the 

Half an hour later the boats pulled along- 
side, and Dick humbly laid his trophy at his 
captain's feet, telling him at the same time of 
his narrow escape. 

Did Captain Chandler thank him with a 
kindly smile, or gravely reprove him for fool- 
hardy disobedience ? 

He did neither. He looked over the quarter 
where the shark's back-fin was circling about 
the stem, and measured him with his eye. Then 
he looked at the sponge, from which the water 
had been pressed, as it lay in a deck-tub to 
undergo a certain process of curing. And at 
length, addressing himself to Dick, he said 
curtly : 

" If I hear of your going overboard again 
on this cruise, young man, I '11 trice you up by 
the two thumbs in the main rigging and give 
you a .sound rope's-ending \ " 

But, nevertheless, when the Crocker returned 
to Provincetown, after an eleven-months' cruise 
from which no one but the owners profited, and 
every man of the crew, being as a matter of 
course brought in debt to the vessel, was left 
penniless in that not over-hospitable town, Cap- 
tain Chandler paid out of his own pocket 
Dick Thorn's fare to his home in Maine. 

" Don't you ever let me see you aboard a 
Provincetown whaler again," he .said roughly. 

And, thanking him kindly, Dick said that the 
captain need n't be alarmed — he never would. 
And he never did. 


By Laura E. Richards. 

[Bef^HH in the January numhr.\ 

Chapter VII. 


Our mother's stor)' should be sung, rather 
than said, so much has music to do with it. My 
eariiest recollection of my mother is of her 
standing by the piano in the great dining-room, 
dressed in black velvet, with her beautiful neck 
and arms bare, and singing to us. Her voice 
was a very rare and perfect one, we have since 
learned ; we knew then only that we did not care 
to hear any one else sing when we might hear her. 
The time for singing was at twilight, when the 
dancing was over, and we gathered breathless 
and exhausted about the piano for the last and 
greatest treat. Then the beautiful voice would 
break out. and flood the room with melody, and 
fill our childish hearts with almost painful rap- 
ture. Our mother knew all the songs in the 
world ; that was our firm belief. Certainly we 
never found an end to her repertory. 

There were German student songs, which she 
had learned from her brother when he came 
back from Heidelberg: merry, jovial ditties, with 
choruses of " Juvevallera ! " and " Za hi ! Za he ! 
Za ho-o-o-o-o-oh ' " in which we joined with 
boundless enthusiasm. There were gay little 
French songs, all ripple and sparkle and trill, 
and soft, melting Italian serenades and barca- 
roles, which we thought must be like the notes 
of the nightingale. And when we called to 
have our favorites repeated again and again, she 
would sing them over and over with never- fail- 
ing patience : and not one of us ever guessed, 
as we listened with all our souls, that the cunning 
mother was giving us a French lesson, or a 
German or Italian lesson, as the case might be, 
and that what was learned in that \va)' would 
never be forgotten all our lives long. 

Besides the foreign .songs, there were many 
songs of our mother's own making, which we 

were never weary of hearing. Sometimes she 
composed a melody for some old ballad, but 
more often words and music both were hers. 
Where were such nonsense-songs as hers ? 

Little old dog sits under the chair, 
Twenty-five grasshoppers sn.-irled in his hair. 
Little old dog 's beginning to snore, 
Mother forbids him to do so no more. 

Or again : 

Hush, my darling, don't you cry! 
Your sweetheart will come by and by. 
When he comes, he '11 come in green, — 
That 's a sign that you 're his queen. 

Hush, my darling, don't you cry ! 
Your sweetheart will come by and by. 
When he comes, he '11 come in blue, — 
That 's a sign that he '11 be true. 

And so on through all the colors of the rainbow, 
till finally expectation was wrought up to the 
highest pitch by the concluding lines, 

When he conies, he '11 come in gray, — 
That 's a sign he 'II come to-day ! 

Then it was a pleasant thing that each child 
could have his or her own particular song 
merely for the asking. Laura well remembers 
her good-night song, which was sung to the 
very prettiest tune in the world. 

Sleep, my little child, 
.So gentle, sweet, and mild ! 
The little lamb is gone to rest, 
The little bird is in its nest, — 

" Put in the donkey ! " cried Laura, at this 
point of the first singing. " Please put in the 
donkey ! " So the mother went on — 

The little donkey in the stable 
Sleeps as sound as he is able — 
.All things now their rest pursue. 
You are sleepy too. 

It was with this song sounding softly in her 
ears and with the beautiful hand, like soft warm 
ivory, stroking her hair, that Laura used to fall 
asleep. Do you not envy the child ? 



Mauil's songs were perhaijs the lovt-liL-st ol 
all, though the\- coiikl not be dearer than my 
donkey-song. Here is one of them : 

Baby willi tlie hat and plume, 
And tlio scarlet cloak >o fine, 
Come where thou hast rest and room. 
Little ball)' mine 1 

Whence those eyes so crystal clear? 
Whence those curls so silky soft ? 
Thou art Mother's darling dear, 
I have told thee oft. 

1 have told thee many times. 
And repeat it yet again. 
Wreathing thee about with rhymes. 
Like a flowery chain : 

Rhymes that sever and unite 
As the blossom fetters do. 
As the mother's weary night 
Happy days renew. 

But it was not all singing, of cottrse. Otir 
mother read to us a great deal, too, and told 
us stories, from the Trojan War down to " Puss 
in Boots." It was under her care, I think, that 
we used to look over the " Shakspere book." 
This was a huge foho, bound in rusty-brown 
leather, and containing the famous Boydcll 
prints illustrating the plays of Shakspere. The 
frontispiece represented Shakspere nursed by 
Tragedy and Comedy — the prettiest, chubbiest 
of babies, seated on the ground with his litde 
toes curled up under him, while a lovely laugh- 
ing lady bent down to whisper in his ear, and 
another one, grave but no less beautiful, gazed 
earnestly upon him. Then came the " Tem- 
pest " — oh, most lovely! The first picture 
showed Ariel dancing along the " yellow 
sands," while Prospero waved him on with a 
commanding gesture; in the second, Miranda, 
all white and lovely, was coming out of the 
darksome cavern, and smiling with tender com- 
passion on Ferdinand, who was trying to lift 
an impossible log. Then there was the deli- 
cious terror of the '• Macbeth " pictures with 
the witches and Banquo's ghost. But soon our 
mother would turn the page and show us the 
exquisite figure of Puck, sitting on a toadstool, 
and make us shout with laughter over Nick 
Bottom and his rustic mates. From these magic 
pages we learned to hate Richard III. duly, and 
to love the little princes, whom Northcote's 

lovel)' picture showed in white satiti doublet 
and hose, embracing each other, while the 
wicked uncle glowered at them from behind ; 
and we wept over the second picture, where 
they lay asleep, unconscious of the fierce faces 
bending over them. Yes, we loved the Shaks- 
pere book very much. 

Sometimes our mother would give us a 
party, — a delightful affair, with charades, or 
magic lantern, or something of the kind. Here 
is an account of one, w-ritten by our mother 
herself, in a letter to her sister : 

" I have written a play for our doll thea- 
ter, and performed it yesterday afternoon, with 
great success. It occupied nearly an hour. I 
had alternately to grunt and squeak the parts, 
while Chev played the puppets." (" Chev " 
was the name by which she always called our 
father ; it was an abbreviation of " Chevalier," 
for he was always to her the " knight without 
reproach or fear.") " The effect was really 
extremely good. The spectators were in a dark 
room, and the little theater, lighted by a lamp 
from the top, looked very pretty." 

This may have been the play of " Beauty 
antl the Beast," of which the manuscript is 
unhappily lost. I can recall but one passage : 

But he thought on " Beauty's " flower, 
And he popped into a bower, 
And he plucked the fairest rose 
That grew beneath his nose. 

I remember the theater well, and the pup- 
pets. They were quite unearthly in their 
beauty, all except the " Beast," a strange fur- 
covered monstrosity. The '• Prince " was gilded 
in a most enchanting manner, and his mustache 
curled with an expression of royal pride. I 
have seen no other prince like him. 

All this was at Green Peace ; but man)' as 
are the associations with her beloved presence 
there, it is at the Valley that I most constant- 
ly picture our mother. She loved the Valley 
more than any other place on earth, I think, so 
it is always pleasant to fancy her there. Study 
formed always an important part of her life. 
It was her delight and recreation, when wearied 
with household cares, to plunge into German 
metaphysics, or into the works of the Latin 
])oets, whom she greatly loved. 

Our mother's books! — alas, that we sliould 

\vin:\ I WAS voi'R ack. 

have been so familiar witli tlic outside of 
them, and have known so httle of die inside ! 
There was Tacitus, who was high-shouldered, 
and pleasant to handle, being bound in smooth 
brown calf. There was Kant, who could not 
spell his own name (we thought it ought to 
begin with a C"l). There was Spinoza, whom 
we fancied a hunchback with a long, thin, vi- 
brating nose. 

Ver\-. very much our mother loved her 
books. Yet how quickly were they laid aside 
when any liead was bumjied, any knee 
scratched, any finger cut. When we tumliled 
down and hurt ourselves, our father always 
cried, " Jump up and take another! " and that 
was very good for us, but our mother's kiss 
made it easier to jump up. 

The Latin books could be brought out under 
the apple-trees : even Kant and Spinoza some 
times came there, though I doubt whether the\ 
enjoyed the fresh air ; but our mother had othei 
work besides study, and many of her most 
precious hours were spent each day at the little 
black table in her own room, where papers lay 
heaped like snowdrifts. Here she wrote the 
beautiful poems, the brilliant essays, the earnest 
and thoughtful addresses, which have given 
pleasure and help and comfort to so many 
people throughout the length and breadth of 
the land. Many of her words have become 
household sayings which we could not spare ; 
but there is one poem which every child knows, 
at whose opening hne every heart, from youth 
to age, must thrill — " The Batde Hymn of the 
Republic." Thirty years have passed since this 
noble poem was written. It came in that first 
year of the war, like the sound of a silver trumpet, 
like the flash of a lifted sword ; and all men felt 
that this was the word for which they had been 
waiting. You shall hear, in our mother's own 
words, how it came to be written. 

" In the late autumn of the year 1861 I visited 
the national capital in company with my hus- 
band. Dr. Howe, and a party of friends, among 
whom were Governor and Mrs. Andrew, Mr. 
and Mrs. E. P. Whipple, and my dear pastor, 
Rev. James Freeman Clarke. 

"The journey was one of vivid, even romantic 
interest. We were about to see the grim Demon 


of War face to face ; and long before we reached 
the city his presence made it.self felt in the blaze 
of fires along the road where sat or stood our 
pickets, guarding the road on which we traveled. 
" One day we drove out to attend a review of 
troops, appointed to take place some distance 
from the city. In the carriage with me were 
James Freeman Clarke and Mr. and Mrs. Whip- 

ple. The day was fine, and everytliing promised 
well, but a sudden surprise on the part of the 
enemy interrupted the proceedings before they 
were well begun. A small body of our men had 
been surrounded and cut off from their com- 
panions ; reinforcements were sent to their assist- 
ance, and the expected pageant was necessarily 
given up. The troops who were to ha^•e taken 
part in it were ordered back to their quarters, 
and we also turned our horses' heads home- 

" For a long distance the foot-soldiers nearly 
filled the road. They were before and behind, 
and we were obliged to drive very slowly. We 
presently began to sing some of the well-known 
songs of the w-ar, and among them, 

John Brown's body lies .i-mouldeiiny in tlie grave. 



'I'liis sccmcnl to please the soldiers, who cried, 
♦ Good for you ! ' and themselves took up the 
strain. Mr. Clarke said to me, 'You ought to 
write some new words to that tune.' 1 reijlied 
that I had often wished to do so. 

" In spite of the excitement of the day, I went 
to bed and slept as usual; but awoke next morn- 
ing in the gray of the early dawn, and to my 
astonishment found that the wished-for lines 
were arranging themselves in my brain. I lay 
quite still until the last verse had completed 
itself in my thoughts, then hastily rose, saying 
to myself, ' I shall lose this if I don't write it 
down immediately.' I searched for a sheet of 
paper and an old stump of a pen which I had 
had the night before, and began to scrawl the 
lines almost without looking, as I had learned 
to do by often scratching down verses in the 
darkened room where my little children were 
sleeping. Having completed this, I lay down 
again and fell asleep, but not without feeling 
that something of importance had happened 
to me. 

" The poem was published soon after this 
time in the Atlantic Monthly. It first came 
prominently into notice when Chaplain Mc- 
Cabe, newly released from Libby Prison, gave 
a lecture in Washington, and in the course of it 
told how he and his fellow-prisoners, having 
somehow become possessed of a copy of the 
' Battle Hymn,' sang it with a will in their 
prison, on receiving surreptitious tidings of a 
Union victory." 

Our mother's genius might soar as high as 
heaven on the wings of such a song as this ; but 
we always considered that she was tied to our 
little string, and we never doubted (alas!) our 
perfect right to pull her down to earth whenever 
a matter of importance, such as a doll's funeral 
or a sick kitten, was at hand. 

'I'o her our confidences were made, for she 
had a rare understanding of the child-mind. 
We were always sure that mama knew "just 
how it was." 

To her did Julia, at the age of five, or it 
may have been six, impart the first utterances 
of her infant Muse. " Mama," said the child, 
trembling with delight and awe, " I have made 
a poem, and set it to music ! " Of course our 

mother was deeply interested, and begged to 
hear the composition ; whereupon, encouraged 
by her voice and smile, Julia sang as follows: 

" I had a little boy, lie died when he was young, 
-Vs soon as he was dead, he walked upon his tongue." 

Our mother's ear for music was exquisitely 
fine: so fine, that when she was in her own 
room, and a child, practising below-stairs, played 
a false note, she would open her door and cry, 
" B flat, dear ! not B natural ! " This being so, 
it was grievous to her when one day, during 
her precious study hour, Harry came and 
chanted outside her door: 

"Hong-kong! hong-kong I liong-kongi" 

"Harry!" she cried, "do stop that dreadful 
noise ! " But when the little lad showed a pite- 
ous face, and said reproachfully, " Why, Mama, 
I was singing to }'ou ! " who so ready as our 
mother to listen to the funny song and thank 
the child for it ? 

When ten-year-old Laura wrote, in a certain 
precious little volume bound in Scotch plaid, 
" Whence these longings after the infinite ? " 
(I cannot remember anymore!) be sure that 
if any eyes were suffered to rest upon the sacred 
lines, they were those kind, clear, understanding 
gray eyes of our mother. 

Through all, and round all, like a laugliing 
river, flowed the current of her wit ami fini. 
No child could be sad in her company. If we 
were cold, there was a merry bout of " fisticuffs" 
to warm us ; if we were too warm, there was a 
song or story while we sat still and "cooled off." 
We all had nicknames, our own names being 
often too sober to suit her laughing mood. We 
were " Petotty," "Jehu," " Wolly," and " Bunks 
of Bunktown." 

On one occasion our mother's presence of 
mind saved the life of the child Laura, then a 
baby of two years old. We were all staying at 
the Institution for some reason, and the nursery 
was in the fourth story of the lofty building. 
t)ne day our mother came into the room, and to 
her horror saw litde Laura rolling about on the 
broad window-sill, the window being wide open; 
only a few inches space between her and the 
edge, and then — the street, fifty feet below ! The 
nurse was — I know not where; anywhere save 



where she oiiglit to have been. Our motlier 
stepped quickly and (juietly back out of .sight, 
and called gently, "Laura, come here, dear! 
Come to me ! I have something to show you." 
A moment's agonized pause — and then she 
heard the litde feet patter on the floor, and in 
another instant held the child clasped in her 
arms. If she had screamed, or rushed forward, 
the child would have started, and probably 
would have fallen and been dashed to pieces. 

It was very strange to us to find other chil- 
dren holding their revels without their father 
and mother. " Papa and Mamma" were always 
the life and soul of ours. 

Our mother's letters to her sister are delight- 
ful, and abound in allusion to the children. In 
one of them she playfully upbraids her sister for 
want of attention to the needs of the baby of the 
day, in what she calls " Family Trochaics" : 

Send along that other pink shoe 

You have been so long in knitting ! 

Are you not ashamed to think that 

Wool was paid for at Miss's 

With explicit understanding 

You should knit it for my baby, 

And that baby 's now a-barefoot, 

While your own, no doubt, has choice of 

Pink, blue, yellow — every color, 

For its little drawn-up toe-toes. 

For its toe-toes, small as green peas, 

Counted daily by the mother. 

To be sure that none is missing ? 

Our mother could find amusement in alinost 
anything. Even a winter day of pouring rain, 
which made other housewives groan and shake 
their heads at thought of the washing, could 
draw from her the following lines : 

The Rainy Day. 

(After Longfellow.^ 

The morn was dark, the weather low. 
The household fed by gaslight show. 
When from the street a shriek arose : 
The milkman, bellowing through his nose, 
Expluvior ! 

The butcher came, a walking flood. 
Drenching the kitchen where he stood, 
" Deucalion is your name, I pray ? " 
" Moses ! " he choked and slid away. 
Expluvior ! 

The neighbor had a coach and pair. 
To struggle out and take the air, 

Slip-slop, the loose galoslies went, 
I watched his paddling with content. 
Expluvior ! 

A wretch came floundering up the ice 
(The rain had washed it smooth and nice). 
Two ribs stove in above his head. 
As, turning inside out, he said, 
Expluvior ! 

No doubt, alas ! we often imposed upon the 
tenderness of this dear mother. She was always 
absent-minded, and of this quality advantage 
was sometimes taken. One day, when guests 
were dining with her, Harry came and asked if 
he might do something that happened to be 
against the rules. " No, dear ! " said our mother, 
and went on with the conversation. In a few 
moments Harry was at her elbow again with the 
same question, and received the same answer. 
This was repeated an indefinite number of 
times; at length our mother awoke suddenly 
to the absurdity of it, and, turning to the child, 
said, " Harry, what do you mean by asking me 
this question over and over again, when I have 
said ' no,' each time ? " " Because," was the reply, 
" Flossy said that if I asked often enough, you 
would say yes ! " 

1 am glad to say that our mother did not 
" say yes " on this occasion. 

It was worth while to have measles and 
things of that sort : not because one had stewed 
prunes and cream-toast — oh, no ! but because 
our mother sat by us, and sang " Lord Thomas 
and Fair Elinor," or some mystic ballad. 

The walks with her are never to be forgotten. 
Twilight walks round the hill behind the house, 
with the wonderful sunset deepening over the 
bay, turning all the world to gold and jewels ; 
or through the Valley itself, the lovely wild 
glen, with its waterfall and its murmuring 
stream, and the solemn Norway firs, with their 
warning fingers. The stream was clear as crys- 
tal, its rocky banks fringed with jewel-weed 
and rushes; the level sward was smooth and 
green as emerald. By the waterfall stood an 
old mill, whose black walls looked down on a 
deep brown pool, into which the foaming cas- 
cade fell with a musical, rushing sound. I have 
described the Valley very fully elsewhere, • but 
cannot resist dwelling on its beauty again, in 
connection with our mother, who loved so to 

In the book "Queen Hildegarde.' 



wander through it, or to sit with her work under 
the huge ash-tree in the middle, where our 
father had placed seats and a rustic table. 
Here, and in the lovely, lonely fields, as we 
walked, our mother talked with us, and we 
might share the rich treasures of her thought. 

.\iiil oh ! the words that fell from her moutli 
Were words of wonder and words of truth. 

One such w-ord, dropped in the course of con- 
versation, as the maiden in the fairy-story 
dropped diamonds and pearls, comes now to 
my mind, and I shall write it here, because it 
is good to think of and to say over to one's self. 

I gave my son a palace 
And a kingdom to control : 

The palace of his body, 
The kingdom of his soul. 

In the Valley, too, many famous parties and 
picnics w^ere given. The latter are to be re- 
membered with especial delight. A picnic 
with our mother, and one without her, are two 
very different things. I never knew that a 
picnic could be dull, till I grew up and w'ent 
to one where that brilliant, gracious presence 
was lacking. The games we played ! the 
songs we sang ! the garlands of oak and maple- 
leaves that we wove, listening to the gay talk 
if we were little, joining in it when we were 
older. The simple feast, and then the impro- 
vised charades or tableaux, always merry, often 
graceful and lovely 1 Ah ! these are things 
to remember ! 

Our mother's hospitality was boundless. She 
loved to fill the little house to overflowing in 
summer days, when every one was glad to get 
out into the fresh green country. Often the 
beds were all filled, and we children had to 
take to sofas and cots; once, I remember, 
Harry slept on a mattress laid on top of the 
piano, there being no other vacant spot. 

Sometimes strangers as well as friends shared 
this kindly hospitality. I well remember one 
wild stormy night, when two men knocked at 
the door and begged for a night's lodging. 
They were walking to the town, they said, five 
miles distant, but had been overtaken by the 
storm. The people at the farm-house near by 
had refused to take them in ; there was no 
other shelter near. Our mother hesitated a 

{To tec 

moment. Our father was away ; the old 
coachman slept in the bam, at some distance 
from the house. She was alone with the chil- 
dren and the two maids, and Julia was ill with 
a fever. These men might be vagabonds, or 
worse. Should she let them in ? Then, per- 
haps, she may have heard, amid the howling 
of the storm, a voice which she has followed all 
her life, saying, " I was a stranger, and ye took 
me in ! " She bade the men enter, in God's 
name, and gave them food, and then led them 
to an upper bedroom, cautioning them to tread 
softly as they passed the door of the sick child's 

Well, that is all. Nothing happened. The 
men proved to be quiet, respectable persons, 
who departed, thankful, the ne.xt morning. 

The music of our mother's life is still sound- 
ing on, noble, helpful, and beautiful. Many 
people may still look into her serene face, and 
hear her silver voice ; and no one will look or 
hear without being the better for it. I cannot 
close this chapter better than with some of her 
own words: a poem which I wish every child — 
and every grown person, too — who reads this 
might learn by heart. 


" I sent a child of mine to-day ; 

I hope you used him well." 
" Now, Lord, no visitor of yours 

Has waited at my bell. 

" The children of the millionaire 
Run up and down our street; 
I glory in their well-combed hair, 
Their dress and trim complete. 

" But yours would in a chariot come 

With thoroughbreds so gay, 

.\nd little merry maids and men 

To cheer him on his way." 

"Stood, then, no child before your door?" 

The Lord, persistent, said. 
" Only a ragged beggar-boy, 

With rough and frowzy head. 

" The dirt was crusted on his skin, 
His muddy feet were bare; 
The cook gave victuals from within. 
I cursed his coming there." 

What sorrow, silvered with a smile. 

Glides o'er the face divine ? 
What lenderesl whisper thrills rebuke? 
" The beggar-boy was mine ! " 


\.mtn\mhoy^ Rf§lblI|(nTBs 

By John Kendriok' B^igs 

v{'A svsked 
5.r B>iikfe.str 
^ s'v^. time 

Vvky does milk and wd^ter spill? 
V/ ky does knives cut ckickens up? 
vvky does good tkings m&Ke me ill? 
Vyky does crexcks come in my cup: 

XA/ka^ts inside of lime, oea^ns: 

Vvky does little boys kexve na.mes: £^l>^ 
V/ky 6,int 1 ever (Queens' 
vvky does rire come in [Is^mes. 

NA/ky does dapples grow on trees 
vvkats tke use of kired men! 
V/ky don t ta^ble legs kzxve 
Wky don t six come Ll^riees. '^^'^.^ 

a.fter tenl 


Bv Ernest Ingersoll. 

^OI.T^Y was sitting snugly be- 
tween the roots of a big 
sycamore that grew on the 
edge of the river — a small, 
deep, quiet river that ran 
through the forest with many 
a delightful curve, closely 
shaded by overhanging 
trees. It was mid-after- 
noon, and warm out in 
"\ the sunshine, though 
June had just come in, and the air was alive 
with the winging and singing of countless 
insects and birds — all so active that Molly's 
idleness seemed almost a reproach to her. 

Not that she was altogether idle. She had 
her sewing, though the stitches were few, if 
not far between ; and she had been watching 
attentively the curious behavior of some large 
black ants that had their home in a hollow 
of the old tree. Just now, however, these 
were forgotten, and the girl was doing a little 

Suddenly this was interrupted by the rhyth- 
mic rattle of oar-locks, and she glanced up to 
see Jack Deane come swinging round the bend 
below, with strong strokes. Already he was 
almost within hailing distance. The lad was a 
great chum of hers, and the girl's reverie van- 
ished like a broken bubble. 

" Oh, Jack ! " she called out, " where are you 
going ? " 

The rower lifted his blades and turned his 
head at the cheery summons. 

" Hallo, Molly ! I 'm only taking a little spin 
up the creek to see how my birds are getting 
on. Want to come along B " 

" Of course I do. Just let me run up the 
garden and tell mama " ; and, darting away, she 
was back again almost as soon as Jack could 
get the boat ready for his passenger at the foot 
of the tree. 

" Jack," Molly declared impressively, as she 
settled herself in the stern-sheets and gathered 
up the tiller-ropes — "Jack, I 'm in deep, deep 

" Dreadful ! " and as the lad leaned forward 
for a new stroke he glanced at her inquiringly 
from under the brim of his straw hat. " How 
deep ? Profound as that hole over there by 
the white-thorn where the big bass lies ? " 

"Ah, — isn'theasly oldfish? But I'll catch 
him )'et ! Yes, my troubles are deeper than 
that ; so there 's no use trying to drown them 
in that hole." 

" No ? What 's the nature of your com- 
plaint ? " 

" I 'm dying for a pair of slippers." 

" Bless me ! Why, I 've an old pair I '11 gladly 
give you to save your life. Jolly girls are too 
scarce to let one go without an effort." 

" Quit teasing, and let me tell you. You 
know Nettie Gray is going to give a party next 
week — a very fine party, indeed, for that friend 
of hers from Chicago ; and I 'm invited. Are 
you hstening ? " 

" With all my ears. Go ahead ! " 

" Well, I 've got a pretty dress and other 
fixings that will do, except nice shoes. I can't 
wear these, you know, at an evening party " ; 
and she pointed with hopeless dismay to a 
pair of boots which, however serviceable and 
shapely, were never designed, certainly, for 
party wear. " And it happens to be my birth- 
day, too, and Nettie said she chose that day on 
purpose, and so I really ought to go, and yet 
how can I ? " 

Deane knew better than to propose buying 
a new pair. He understood well enough that 
Molly's widowed mother could n't afford this 
bit of finery, — that, at any rate, Molly thought 
she could n't and would n't ask her, — or no- 
thing would have been .said about it. So he 
had nothing to reply, except that it was an 


awful shame, or something equally wise and 
comforting, and steadily forced the boat along 
the winding lane of water, which was flecked 
with dancing patches of the spring sunshine 
that came down between the leaves, as if to 
show them how, a few months later, they them- 
selves would be bobbing and whirling down 
the current. 

'•I wish," sighed Molly, after a bit of .silence, 
" that we girls had some way of earning a dol- 
lar, now and then, for such odds and ends of 


stoj) a minute ! \\'hat sort of nest 

uses." And then, as if well aware that the lad 
had no method of money-making to propose, 
she dismissed the subject, and went to talking 
about the ants she had been watching on the 

" They were as busy as they could be — 
dozens of 'em — in carrying out little w hite 
bundles, cocoons, I suppose, twice as big as 
themselves, and throwing them down to other 
ants at the foot of the tree." 

" Probably they were the cocoons of some 
intruder, like a carpenter-bee, which they were 
turning out of doors," said Jack. 

" So I thought ; but they were cute about it, 
for though once in a while they would bring 
out a small cocoon and simply throw it on the 
ground and leave it, they never failed to carry 
all of the big kind to the edge of the water and 
toss them into it, sometimes having to go down 
a second time and shove them off when they 
fell a Httle short. Was n't that sharp ? Now, 
those ants must have known that it was neces- 
sary to drown those big nuisances, but that 
they need n't take the trouble with the little 

ones. Oh, 
is that ? " 

The oarsman checked his headway, and gazed 
where the girl pointed to a lovely basket of 
thin bark and spider's web suspended under- 
neath a fork in the limb of a hazel-bush that 
stretched over the water, where a rivulet strug- 
gled out through a tangle of lily-pads. 

"That 's a vireo's nest," he answered, as he 
caught sight of it. " A redeye's, I guess — yes, 
there 's the owner " ; and he pointed to a small, 
sleek, greenish bird, which Molly rec- 
ognized as one she had often seen in 
the garden ; as for the red eyes, she 
took those for granted, knowing that 
Jack was a trained ornithologist. 

"Are there other kinds of vireos?" 
Molly asked as they ghded on, wav- 
ing her hand at the same mo- 
ment to a couple of young friends 
who were lazily fishing from the 

" Oh, yes, a good many, and 
one I am especially on the look- 
out for just now. Professor 
Frankenstein wants its nest and 
eggs for the National Museum." 
" Is it rare ? " 

" The birds are not so very uncommon ; but 
most of them go on to Hudson's Bay or some 
other place away north to pass the summer, and 
consequently their nests and eggs are almost 
unobtainable. That 's the way with lots of birds 
that pass through here in large numbers on 
their migrations in spring and fall. But some- 
times two or three are wounded, or hurt so that 
they can't travel well, or stay behind their fel- 
lows for some other reason, and so, once in a 
while, they pair and build a home down here 
where we can get a look at it. 

" In fact, the only nest of this bird that is 
known is said to have been taken on this very 
river, and we have been looking for another 
.straggler ever since. So you see it 's rare enough 
to make Frankenstein quite willing to give a 
big exchange or a good price in cash ; and the 
finding of it would be a feather in my cap 

By this time the boat had come to a place, 
about a mile above the starting-]K)int, where 




another stream came in, and the banks were 
low, swampy, and covered with a jungle of trees 
and tangled brush. 

" There are some painted-cups," cried Molly. 
" See how they flame in the shadows, like candles 
set out among the weeds ! Let 's get some of 
them and then go back." 

" .'\ll right," said Jack, as he turned the boat 

shoreward ; 
" only give me 
a minute or two 
to look round in the 
swamp a bit." 

Stepping out where a piece of dry land was 
raised around the roots of a great beech, he held 
the prow firm until Molly had leaped from the 
gunwale to the bank. 

Securing the boat, Jack jumped from root to 
tussock and from tussock to root, peering about 
among the foliage, and exploring the shadowy 
swamp for nests. But none met his eye, except 
a robin's that had been abandoned, and pres- 
ently he returned, with his hands full of the 
painted-cups and some lovely pink orchids to 
add to the few the girl had been able to reach 
without wetting her feet. 

Jack was loosening the chain, and Molly was 
just stepping into the boat again, when she 
happened to glance up, and by one of those 
curious " accidents " which often come to good 
observers and rarely to careless eyes, she caught 
sight of another bird-home, high up on the 
pliant tip of a branch which reached out over 
the river. 

" There 's another redeye's nest," she an- 
nounced, and Jack snapped shut again the 
lock of the chain and looked upward. 

" I guess not," he replied, after studying it a 

" It 's some kind of vireo's, anyhow," the 
girl persisted, a trifle piqued by her mistake. 

"Oh, of course — wait, there 's the bird." 

Drawing from his pocket the opera-glass 
which he always carried, the young naturalist 
scanned intently the restless little creature flit- 
ting about the nest, now and then alighting 
upon its rim as if uncertain whether it dare 
enter in the presence of these spectators. 

" Great Jupiter ! " he exclaimed, when at last 
he got a good look at it. "I believe it h — 
I 'm sure of it ! Ginger ! Yes, there 's the pale 
sulphur and white underneath, and the white 
line over the eye, and the size is all right. It 's 
/V, sure ! " 

"What do you mean by '//'?" Molly de- 
manded with some indignation. 

To see this excited young man, with an opera- 
glass glued to his eyes, dancing up and dowm 
and uttering riddles was exasperating. 

" It ? Why, the golden-vested vireo, of course." 

" Indeed ! What of that ? " 

This patronizing young enthusiast was be- 
coming insufferable. 

" Why, Molly, that 's the rarity Professor 
Frankenstein wants ! " 

Now it was the girl's turn to give a little 
scream and seize the glass, which showed her 
that both the bird and the nest, while in gen- 
eral resembling the redeye and its home, were 
in many particulars very distinct. 


" And will he give you five dollars for that 
nest ? " 

" If there are eggs in it; — maybe more." 

" Let 's get it right away ? " 

"Bright girl! Go and bring il ilown. I only 
wish / could." 



The nest was far out, rocking gently at the 
extremity of a limb which would scarcely bear 
the weight of a kitten, and to climb there was 
out of the question ; nor was any other limb 
near enough to furnish a stronger means of 

" We don't even know whether it contains 
any eggs," said Molly. 

" No ; but I reckon I can settle that point." 

Throwing off his coat, he put his opera-glass 
in his vest pocket, and began to climb the tree. 
Molly forgot her flowers and watched him 
eagerly, as he scrambled like a sailor up to 
a crotch some distance above the nest-limb, 
where a large branch bent outward from the 
trunk. Making his way cautiously out upon 
this, he tried here and there to look down 
through the leaves and get a glimpse of the 
interior of the cradle, but found it very difficult. 

" That 's a keen bird," he called down. '• She 
not only goes out to the tip of a limb so thin 
that no coon or other egg-stealer would dare 
trust his weight to it, but she chooses a place 
under leaves so thick that any prowling crow 
would pass by it nine times out of ten." 

" It 's plain enough from here," said Molly. 

" No doubt ; but tree-building 
birds have n't much to fear from 
enemies on the ground, and don't 
seem to care whether the bottom 
of the nest can be seen or not." 

At last Jack shouted that he 
had found a chink, and could 
count four eggs ; but that he could 
not see any way to get within 
reach of them. Then he came , ., . , 
down, and the two sat on • the ^^s2j^' 
edge of the boat and beat their 
brains for some plan by which to 
obtain the prize. 

" Could n't you saw off the 
limb ? " Mollie asked. 

" No — not in that place. The 
eggs would surely be smashed." 

O-i „ • "JACK rOKED THE 

Silence agam. ■' 

" I 've an idea," said the girl, suddenly. 

" Hang on to it. tight I " her companion ex- 
horted her. 

" How near can you get to the nest by creep- 
ing out on that big limb above it ? " 

" Oh, to within a dozen feet or so, maybe." 

" As near as that ? Then go and cut a 
straight, light, and pretty stiff pole." 

" What 's that for ? " 

"Never you mind, Jack Deane. Just run 
and do as I tell you." 

" Here you are," he reported, a few minutes 
later. " What next ? " 

Putting her hand u[) to her head, the girl 
drew out a long hair-pin, and began to pull 
its points apart until she held a nearly straight 
piece of wire. 

Then, while her companion watched her cu- 
riously, she bent this around the butt of the 
pole until she had shaped it into a loop ; and 
this done she called for cord. 

" There 's a stout fish-line in the boat," Jack 
informed her. " Will a piece of that do ? " 

" The very thing. Get it for me, please, and 
then split the end of that pole just a little bit." 

When this had been done, she put the ends 
of the wire into the crevice, and, while Jack 
held the pole firm, bound the wire tightly in 

The boy had n't the slightest notion of what 
all this meant, and was still more mystified 


when Molly drew from her pocket a handker- 
chief — " Fortunately it 's an old one, about used 
up," she explained, with a laugh — and began to 
bind it on to the wire loop, so that it formed a 
small bag. 




" Now," the girl exclaimed, her eyes spark- 
ling, " here 's a nice little scoop. If you can 
reach down from that upper limb and roll the 
eggs into it, one by one, you can dip them all 
out and hand them down to me. Then you 
can come back to-morrow, saw off the limb, 
and save the nest. Is n't that a good plan ? " 

" It 's worth trying, anyhow," Jack agreed, 
and started up the tree again. Molly handed 
him the scoop when he paused on the lowest 
limbs, and watched him 
make his way as far as he 
dared out over the nest, 
where the poor bird, whose 
treasures were to be sacri- 
ficed, as such treasures must 
be now and then, to human 
science, was flying about 
in great excitement. 

Twisting his legs firmly 
around the yielding branch. 
Jack poked the pole down 
through a space in the 
twigs, and satisfied him- 
self, to Molly's delight, that 
it was long enough. Then, 
with the extremest steadi- 
ness and gentleness of hand, 
he insinuated the small 
scoop into the nest, and 
little by little moved the 
instrument until at last he 
saw one of the delicate, 
pink-dotted eggs roll into 
the folds of the soft hand- 

Carefully withdrawing the scoop, he made 
his way slowly down the trunk, until he could 
hand the pearly freight to his companion, who 
had made a safe receptacle for it in a small box 
which she found in the boat. 

It took a long time, and all of that patience 
and delicate touch which a student of nature 
must cultivate, to secure, one by one, the pre- 
cious eggs; but at last all four were safe in the 
box, and the two friends were spinning hfimc- 
ward in gay mood. 

" Molly," said Jack abruptly, stopping his 
oars as the old sycamore came into sight 
again. " I 'm going to give you your half now. 

You know I don't need it for anything at 

" My half of what, pray tell ? " 

" Of the five dollars this nest and eggs will 

" Why, that 's all yours ! " 

" No, not all. Did n't you see the nest first ? 
Besides, I never could have got it if it had n't 
been for your ingenuity. I think really you 
are entitled to the whole figure ; but I 'm going 


to give you half, anyway. I '11 get paid in a 
day or two." 

Molly stoutly declined, but Jack insisted, and 
when he tossed two dollars and a half into her 
lap she kept it, because she saw he really wished 
her to. 

When the right evening came, a few days 
afterward, Jack presented himself, a little late, 
at Nettie Gray's party. He had shaken hands 
with his hostess, and chatted a moment with 
the young lady from Chicago, and was elbow- 
ing his way through the crowded hall, w-hen he 
felt a hand on his coat-sleeve and bent over the 



ne\vel-i)ost to find Molly sitting on tlie stairs and 
smiling up at him, her eyes brimful of mischief. 

" Look at my new shoes," she said softly, 
exposing the dainty toes for his inspection. 

•• I'huy are beautiful ! " he declared ecstati- 
cally. '• How do you feel ? " 

" 1 feel as if 1 were walking on eggs," she 
laughed back. 

" And look at your new hair-])in, until your 
next birthday," he answered gaily, slipping a 
golden trifle into her braids to replace the one 
destroyed in emi5t)'ing the vireo's nest. 


By Victor M.^pes. 

A POOR old farmer's only son, 

A little laddie, strong and plucky. 

It happened, as the fates were spun, 
Was born what people dub as " lucky." 

That is to say, from morn till night 

He plowed, or hoed, or did the churning ; 

.\nd thumbed at eve, by candle-light, 
Old books, to get a little learning. 

And by his " luck " it came about 

That to the town he thought he 'd hie him ; 

.\nd some old merchant sought he out, 
Who, as a kindness, said he 'd try him. 

.•\nd there his " luck " stayed by him still — 
He toiled, and toiled, and kept on thrifty. 

And millions left he in his will 

When sudden death said, " Come ! " at fifty. 

This wealthy townsman left one heir 

He 'd brought up as became his station. 

Free from struggle, toil, and care, 
His only pest his education. 

This easy-going, cultured youth. 
Like other scions, now a many. 

Oot all the millions, though forsooth 
The rascal never 'd earned a penny. 

.\nd when he learned how much he had. 
This young man thought, and he reflected. 

And pondered, till he grew most sad. 
How piles of gold were best directed. 

He did n't think to make it more. 

Nor thought he how 't was best to lend it ; 

The problem he kept pondering o'er 

Wan — how, the happiest way, to spend it ? 

The rich youth's friends, " He 's daft," they said, 
l''or, after pondering very slowly, 

He left th' ambitious life he 'd led. 
And lived and gave among the lowly. 

.\nd thus the cranky, rich man's son 
Could do no better than keep giving ; 

.\nd when his sands of life were run 
He left naught but a moderate living. 

Yet, when this spendthrift's summons came, 
A glorious statue was erected ; — 

The thrifty, " lucky " father's name. 
Who made the fortune, was neglected. 


Bv L. A. Bradbury. 

[Four boys dance in, one behind another, their hands (Boys iioio to each other, two and two.) 

on their hips, and go to places at one side, while a group 
of singers sing as follows :] 



[The boys balance, or mark time, in their places, while 
four girls dance in and take places opposite the boys, at 
some distance ; the singers singing as follows, to the 
same music as was sung for the entrance of the boys :] 

In the shade, in the sun, 

They are dancing, they are dancing ! 
In the shade, in the sun, 

They are dancing, every one ! 

All the ladies do like this, — 
[The girls courtesy to the company, and the boys 
bow again.] 

And then they do like this. 

[Girls courtesy to each other, two and two ; boys bow 
in the same way. During the singing of the next stanza, 
the boys take hands, the girls do the same, and the two 
lines dance toward each other, meeting in the middle, 
where they take partners and form a square (quadrille).] 

Oh, what joy ! Oh, what fun ! 

They are dancing, they are dancing ! 
Oh, what joy ! Oh, what fun ! 

They are dancing, ever)- one ! 

All the dancers do like this, — 

[.-Ml bow and courtesy to partners.] 

And then they do like this. 

[All bow and courtesy to corners. The music then 
changes. During the singing of the ne.\t stanza all join 
hands and go round to the left.] 

round, round. Kound - y 

nd they go ! 

Vol.. XIX.— 40. 



[On the repetition of the music (2), partners cross 
hands and promenade, going to the right. ] 

[All face partners, give right hand, and pass by, giving 
left hand to the next person, and so on round to places 
again (grand right and left), while the singers sing as 

(1) Eight hand and left hand and right hand 

Turn with the left hand, nim - hie and 

go, Mer - ry go round and turn uie, ol 

[On the repetition of the music (2), girls cross right 
hands in the middle, swing half round, give left hand to 
opposite boy, and turn; girls cross right hands ag.ain, 
swing half round, and turn partners.] 

[Music as at first. During the singing of the first part 
of the music (i), all balance and turn partners, then form 
a line, facing the company.] 

[All bow and courtesy to partners, and then to the 

[After making their bows and courtesies, the children 
dance off in single file, while the singers sing " La la la," 
etc., to the first part of the music] 

Note. — The costume for the children may be as elabo- 
rate as one pleases. A court dress of the last century — 
satm and velvet embroidered, brocades, silk stockings, 
white wigs and patches — would be quaint and handsome ; 
dress of clown and columbine would be striking ; but the 
simplest change from ordinary wear is here represented : 
broad neck-ruffs and sleeve-ruffles for the boys, mob-caps 
for the girls. The ruffs may be of mosquito-netting, and 
the mob-caps can be of a simple pattern. 


(A Story of the Ilainptoit school.) 

By Frances C. Sparhawk. 

Ten little heads much closer together than 
the position of the ten chairs which held the 
owners of these same heads would warrant, 
showed that the discussion going on was most 
interesting and animated. And what black little 
heads ! How came it that they all were of the 
same color? This is not usual when a group 
of little girls come together in the comradeship 
of work or of play, or even when they count 
themselves "Ten Times One." 

One of the heads was lifted suddenly. 

Ah ! Here was one mystery explained. For 
this little face was not that of a white child, but 
of an Indian. But the others? One by one 
(not at all to display of what race they were, for 
they were not thinking of themselves), all the 
faces came into view. Yes; they were all Indian. 
Some were plain, some were fairly good-looking, 
some were pretty, just as white children happen 
to be when taken haphazard. 

But although they might not be chosen for 
beauty, evidently, there was a plan in their 

meeting. Where were they? — out upon the 
reservation, in some tepee or some little log 
house there ? What ! With those pretty dresses, 
that nicely combed hair, — for it did not count 
that they had rumpled this somewhat in their 
close consultation, — hands so well kept, and 
faces shining with pleasure and cleanhness ? Can- 
not children be happy out on the reservations ? 
They are made to be happy anywhere, if they 
have ever so little chance. But on the reserva- 
tion they could not have been happy in the way 
that they were at that moment. They all sat in 
a large room with pictures on the walls, books 
in a bookcase and on the table, and all about 
them evidences of taste and care. From the 
windows they could see a beautiful river which 
grew wider and wider as it went on, until in the 
distance lay the broad ocean. Between them 
and the water was the lawn where they liked so 
well to play croquet and other games. No, they 
were not upon the reservations ; they were ten 
little Indian girls at the Hampton school. 

What were they saying ? 

" Yes, we must do it," said Bessie. " liut 1 
don't see how," she added. 

" Everybody likes something to eat," sug- 
gested Elva. " Anyway, Indians do. T'rhaps 
we can get it that way." 

" P'rhaps the cooking-class will show us how 
to make chocolate-creams," cried Chu-chu. 

Edna Tiaokasin's eyes sparkled. She seemed 
fond of chocolate-creams. 

'■ But we ourselves must n't eat any ; wc must 
sell them all, or else we .should n't belong to the 
Ten Times One," said Jeannette Huhana. 

Edna's head drooped for an instant; but she 
said, " No," bravely, and she meant it, too. 

" But we can't make a whole dollar's worth, 
can we?" asked Cassie. 

" Well, we can make some other kinds of 
candy and then sell them at the ' Holly Tree'; 
p'rhaps some of the boys would like it," ven- 
tured Annie. 

" I know," and Lora nodded her head with a 
world of meaning, — " I know one of the teach- 
ers will buy some if we tell her what it 's for." 

At this there was a chorus of dissent. " We 
are not going to tell what the money is for — we 
all promised," said Bessie, the Secretary'. 

•'No, we won't tell," said they all. "We '11 
see if we can do it first." 

"Well," said Lora, "I think she will buy 
some of it, anyway." 

The children laughed. This experience of 
the teacher's interest in their affairs was not 
new to them. 

" Who '11 make the creams ? " asked Lora, in 
the tone of one asking, " Who '11 bell the cat? " 

" I," answered Annie. " We '11 begin with 
these and see how they do ; and Bessie will keep 
telling us how much money she has collected. 
Oh, dear I it will be so long before we get a 
whole dollar I " 

" 'I'en cents apiece," replied Esther, the oldest 
of the ten. and herself only eleven. 

Ten busier little maidens, red, white, or black, 
or brown, there could not have been anywhere 
than were these for the next two weeks. And 
there hung about their proceedings the delight 
of a myster)-. But what was this mystery that 
was to be so carefully kept? These little Indian 
girls belonged to a " Ten Times One are Ten " 

RED AND BL.\CK. 629 

club; they had a work to do by their combined 
efforts. For at Ham])ton all the pupils, Indian 
and colored alike, are taught that to do things 
for others is the very best of life. The little girls 
must earn the money to do what they wanted 
to tlo as their work that summer. They did not 
talk about it except among themselves, but they 
were .so important, and so happy, and so con- 
fidential, that everybody watched them. And, 
then, they were the first among the smaller 
children who had made any such attempt. 

What were they going to do ? 

Ah, but they had not earned the money yet. 

The creams proved as popular as the chil- 
dren, and everybody jjraised them. At the end 
of a fortnight the funds were coming up well, 
but the dollar was not yet reached. " It seems 
as if everybody had an errand for us to do," 
said Cassie one day ; " is n't it nice ? I mended 

Miss M 's gloves yesterday, and she said 

they looked so neat she 'd be glad to wear 
them." And a pretty glow came over the little 
dark face. 

But all these things were done out of school 
and out of study hours, for the children's les- 
sons were all the time going on. 

In a cabin beyond the grounds of the great 
Hampton school sat a little girl crying. It was 
a beautiful morning early in April. The birds, 
the trees, were rejoicing in the sunshine — the 
flowers were as tempting as ever ; but nothing 
could make Dessa forget that the new term 
of her school, the Whittier school, began that 
day, and that she could not go. She loved 
her teachers. She loved her lessons. But at 
that time the "Whittier" was a free school for 
only six months in the year; and in the spring, 
partly to give the parents a sense of indepen- 
dence and to teach them that knowledge was 
worth paying for, partly to lighten the ex- 
penses which the Hampton Institute assumed 
for those months, a small tuition was charged. 
.-\nd sometimes when the children were bright 
and anxious to learn, and had no money — what 
hap])ened ? There was Dessa crying in her 
grief. The reason her mother gave her for 
her staying at home — that she had no money 
to pay for her — she was too young to under- 
stand ; all that it meant to her was that she 


must stay at home and never learn anything 
more. Her hair, as she buried her face in her 
apron, showed itself as black as the other chil- 
dren's, but it was kinky ; and, when she lifted 
her face, this was as black as it was possible for 
a face to be. Yet she was just a child like the 
rest, and was as full of grief as the little Indians 
had been of pleasure. Her mother was wash- 
ing, and seemed to pay little attention to the 
child. Really, she was sorry for Dessa, but 
could do nothing to help her, and she did not 
like to see her grief. She had parted her lips 
for a sharp reproof that would stop the tears, 
when the gate of her small front yard o])ened 
and a procession so strange filed through it 
that the soap-suds dropped unheeded from her 
hands, and the water from the clothes left hang- 
ing over the edge of the tub dripped unnoticed 
upon the floor. Here was a lady, not a stranger 
to her nor to the inmates of the other humble 
cabins, and with her came ten Indian girls of 
about the age of Dessa. What did they want ? 
Here they were coming straight into her cabin, 
and she had no chairs to give them ! 

Miss R greeted her, and stated that the 

little pupils had come upon an errand which 
they would explain for themselves. 

Dessa had stopped crying, and now sat open- 
mouthed. There was a silence in the cabin. 
The visitors looked at one anotiier with a shy- 
ness which perhaps is possible only to an In- 
dian, and then into Miss R 's face. 

And Miss R , with the gentlest of smiles, 

answered, " Oh, but you know you were to tell 
about this yourselves ! You have done all the 
work, and it will spoil the pleasure if I tell for 
you. Come, Bessie, don't you remember that 
you promised to speak for your little club ? 
You want to do it, when you promised, — don't 
you, Bessie ? " 

This question, put with an indescribable gen- 
tleness of accent, was one which the little girl 
found unanswerable, unless she were willing to 
lower her standard of truthfulness. She made 
a step forward, and, stationing herself before 
Dessa, said, " We belong to the ' Ten Times 
One.' We are ' King's Daughters' — that means 
we have to meet all together and choose some- 
thing we will do, and then earn the money to do 
it. And we choose to send you to the Whittier 


school this summer, and we have got the money, 
and we will send you. Will you go ? " 

With a shout that took the Indians by sur- 
prise the little Dessa sprang uj). 

" Mammy, mammy ! " she cried, '■ I 's a-goin' 
to school ! Hooray ! hooray 1 " 

" Can't you 'member your manners ter thank 
the little ladies, yer good-fur-nothin' Dess ? " 
cried the mother, with the happy tears streaming 
down her face. 

The ten children stood in Indian silence, 
but feeling themselves somehow like fairy god- 
mothers (though if those beings had been so 
much as named to them they would have found 
it impossible to tell what was meant). 

It was when they were going home, and Miss 

R was a little in advance with Bessie, that 

the talking began. 

"That was just right to do. Miss G 

told us so," said Lora. 

'■ It 's real nice to see anybody so glad as 
Dessa was," announced Edna. 

'' Yes, and we must tell her to be a very good 
girl." And Chu-chu, who was the monitor of 
the club, put on her most serious air. 

" She called us litde ladies," said Annie, who 
seemed to have grown an inch taller since hear- 
ing this. 

" Well, so we are," returned Esther. '• I 've 
heard them talking about it, and the ladies who 
give money to send the children to school are 
called ' scholarship ladies ' ; that 's what we 
are — scholarship ladies." 

As the other children demurred, afraid to 
claim so great an honor, Esther ran on : 

" Miss R ," she asked, " are n't we schol- 
arship ladies now ? " 

The fun in Miss R 's face only deepened 

its sweet expression. She turned about to the 
eager group. " Why, yes," she said ; " of course 
you are, now that you have given a scholarshiji 
to Dessa. Dear little Dessa, wasn't slie happy? 
Was n't it nice you could do it ? " 

" Yes 'm," they answered in a joyful chorus. 

" What shall we do next time ? " asked Elva. 

" I shall not know until you 've decided, 
shall I ? " said the teacher. " Don't you think 
that makes it better ? " 

" I s'pose it makes us more scholarship la- 
dies," returned Bessie, meditativelv. 

!3!) 0udora ^. ^umstead. 

The oil' woS warm oa«J the clouds were few, 

The bii'd^ wei'e chirpino end )ioppin<J; 
And ovorythiii'^ was pretty and new 

Whei\ Mly and 1 went ,sl\oj.)pin^ . 
Our inoney-lSanK was yeJiow ar^L) sweet 

WitK it^ dandelion dollars , 
So we hiuTied away to Sai'den Sti-eet 

To look for 5ome caCfs and collars 




^K ' 

For a cap I bou^Kt Ker a ^reat red ro;Se, 

Im certain it ^^ave hei*' pleasure 
And fdi- lady-slippers to lit her XoeS 

I was Careful to leave Jiej- measure; 
Ai^d 1 told the spiders to spin Some lace 

As strono as otliej- folks jnake it , 
And to sew the beads of dew \\\ place, 

A.iid tlu»n we'd he sjlad to take it. 



In big cities there are parks where children go to get fresli air and to 
see green fields and trees. In some parks there are animals. The monkeys, 
and birds and lions are in cages, 
but the bears are kept in pits 
built of stone. 

In one such place lived four 
bears : two big ones and two lit- 
tle ones. In the middle of the 
pit was a pole with steps nailed 
to it. The bears would climb 
up to the top of the pole, and 
then boys and girls would take 
buns or bits of cake and hand 
them to the bears at the end of 
a stick or a cane. 

One of the little bears was 
named " Martin," and he was a 
greedy little fellow. He always 
tried to keep near the pole, so 
that he could climb up before 
any of the others when there was 
cake to be had. But the boys 
and girls soon saw that he took 
more than his share, and so they 
would wait until he was tired of 
sitting on the pole and had to go 
down, and then they would give 
their cake to one of the other 

One day a boy came to the 
side of the pit and leaned over to 
look at the bears. One of the big 
bears, named " Pjruin," was near the pole, and tried to climb up. But Martin 
ran against him very rudely, and knocked Bruin over. Poor Bruin sat down 
for a moment to recover his breath, and, before he could get up again, Martin 
was at the top of the pole. The boy put the Inm on the end of a stick, and 



held it out to Martin. But just as Martin opened his mouth for it, a Httle girl, 
who was standing near l)y, said: " llarr\-, that little bear was mean. He 
pushed the big one over, and climbed up the pole in his place I would 
give the bun to the other bear." 

" Well, I w ill, " said Harr\- ; and he took the biui from the; stick and 
threw it down to the big bear, who caught it in his mouth, just as a boy 
catches a ball, and swallowed it. 

Martin growled a little crossly, but the boy and girls only laughed at 
him. So, after waiting until he was tired, he climbed down the pole, 
without having had anything to eat. 

After a long while, Martin saw that the children would not give their 
cakes to him if he was mean, and so he learned to let the other bears go up 
the pole in their turn. At first he did this because he was lazy, and did not 
care to climb the pole for nothing ; but, before long, Martin found that he 
was better liked by the other bears when he let them have a fair share, and 
that they took care to give him a fair share, too. And he also found that 
he was no longer called the "mean little bear," but was fed as often as 
Bruin or any of the others. 





The bloom of the summer to you, my merry 
friends, and all the sunshine you can stand ! Now 
that flowering-time is come again, the world is out 
of doors ; life is full of air, sweetness, and joy, and 
the sky seems bending to catch earth's softest 

Now you shall have 


Your Jack asked his congregation these ques- 
tions — not conundrums — many years ago. They 
are repeated now by special request : 

1. What very common and well-known leaf bears the 
letter V plainly marked in lighter green on its surface? 

2. What leaf hears a mark resembling a horseshoe ? 

3. What flower carries a well-formed lyre which can 
be discovered by gently pulling the flower apart ? 

4. What blue flower bears well-imitated bumblebees? 

5. What double flower seems formed of tiny dove-like 
things with their bills meeting? 

6. What graceful plant grows its seed on the under 
surface of its leaves ? 

7. Can any one find two blades of ribbon-grass exactly 
alike in size, markings, and colors ? 


Jack's botanical friend, Mr. Ernest IngersoU, 
sends him a bit of news about one of the Wista- 
rias — those large-leaved, climbing shrubs that in 
June hang their purplish-blue blossoms in great 
clusters upon frames or over doorways, or high up 
on the front of houses and cottages. He says it is 
a natural pea-shooter. He found it out in this 
way: Wishing to keep some seeds of the Chinese 
wistaria, he picked a few of the pods that follow 
the fall of the flowers in aututnn, and laid them 
upon a mantelpiece in his warm study. Midwin- 
ter came, and one day the gentleman was aston- 
ished to hear a sharp crack, like a tiny pistol-shot, 

and to see one of the seeds fly clear across the 
room, from its bursting pod on the mantel. It 
struck against the wall as if trying to pass through 
it. He laid the other pods away in paper, and a 
day or two later heard the sharp little reports made 
by their snapping open. This vine, then, is not 
content that its seeds shall simply fall to the ground 
at its root, and there spring up into growth, but 
the pods wait until they have become so tense, 
with drying and shrinking, that they can hold 
their edges together at the seam no longer. Then 
they fly apart with a spring that hurls the seeds 
many yards, so that new vines may spring up far 
from the old one. As this goes on year after year, 
you can easily see how rapidly these wistarias, if 
allowed to grow, would in time spread themselves 
over almost any extent of country. 

By the way, even the old owl in my elm-tree 
hoots at the way some folk pronounce the name of 
this plant. They call it wisteria, when in fact its 
correct name is wistaria. The dear Little School- 
ma'am says "wistaria," always. The plant, she 
tells me, was named in honor of Caspar Wistar, 
an eminent anatomist, who died over seventy years 

Wh(1 is A. E. A. ? 1 do not know. But a verse 
found upon my pulpit this morning makes me 
strongly suspect that either he is the man who did n't 
make " The Century Dictionary," or else he is the 
foreigner who said the English language struck 
him as being not always consistent in its spelling. 
Here is the verse. It is entitled 


There was a small urchin named Guy, 
Who had eaten too much apple-puy. 
He 'd groan and he 'd suy, 
And out loud he would cruy, 
" O goodness, I know I shall duy ! " 

A. E. A . 

Mrs. Eliz.\beth W. L.'^TIMER sends you this 
pretty story in verse, my young friends, and hopes 
you may easily discover Bessy's enigma : 

Dear little Bessy wandered away. 

And where do you think they spied her? 

Down by the brook, all alone at play. 
With four letter-blocks beside her. 

With those four letters she spelled out me, 
Though indeed I was all about her — 

In insects and fishes, in bird and tree. 
And within her as well as without her. 

I came from God to that sweet little maid, 

.\nd oil, may the gift jnove eternal ! 
Bessy picked ofl" my first and last letters and said, 
" Now I 've peeled the word down to its kernel I '' 

Still a word was left. On it Bessy's fate 
May hinge for this worlil and another. 

IiiNt two little letters — their power is great; 
I'ray — )>ray for your darling, fond motlier ! 



Tlieii Bessy pul back my last ami my first, 

Hut she laid asiilo my thinl, 
And there stood of all children's sins the worst — 

A hateful, horrible word. 

A thing that when told breeds more of its raci'. 

Though itself is the child of fear. 
Hessy knocked off its head, and then jiut in its place 

-My third, which was lying near. 

.•\nd then might be seen the mildest word 

Could be uttered in shame an<l haste 
Hy a mother who had from her children heard 

What Uessy had just effaced. 

She took two thirds of that word away, 

Vet a little wor<l stood there still — 
.■\ word that a baby will seldom say. 

But grown folks too often will. 

My third and my first she proceeded to set 

Where my first and third should be, 
.•\nd she saw what a captive would like to get 

If he hoped to set himself free ; 

.•\ word, too, a soldier hears at drill 

In his sergeant's accents gruff, 
.■Vnd what Uncle Sam puts his papers on, till 

One would think he had more than enough. 

Here Bessy heard steps coming down the glade. 
'• Mama ! O Mama ! ' she cried, 
" I had only four letters, — si.\ words I 've made. 
And one has three meanings, beside! " 


Boys, I know where you can buy a good, sound, 
live horse for five dollars. 
Where ? 
I '11 tell you next month. 

a cat who ate eggs. 

Fremont, Neb. 
De.\r Jack : I used to work in a grocery-store on 
Saturdays. This store possessed a cat which had a 
strange way of getting a living. He had given up liis 
lawful food, — rats and mice, — and had taken up the 
more easily obtained and perhaps more palatable diet of 
^S6*- ^^^ *S85 were kept in large baskets which were 
on the floor in an out-of-the-way place ; and whenever the 
cat was hungry he would go and reach into a basket with 
his front feet, and roll an egg over the edge. In falling, 
the egg would of course break, and the cat would begin 
his meal, though quite often it took three eggs to satisfy 
him. I have seen him balance an egg on the side of a bushel 
basket and roll it over the edge when the basket was less 
than half full, but this was r.ither difficult for our plun- 
derer, and he would often have to make many attempts 
before succeeding. I have heard of a pet crow indulging 
in a trick similar to this, but with a cat it seems some- 
thing new. Is it not ? 

Vour constant reader, 


\'krv few Americans, as the Deacon lately re- 
marked, arc aware that during the past year the 
United States has had a change of l^residents — 
on its postal cards. The new cards, of both sizes, 
display the head of President Grant, while those 

fonnorly issued bear the head of Thomas Jefferson, 
tlic third President of the United States. 

N'OUR friend I. W. W. sends you this capital 

A Big Cat Urove Eight Fat Goslings Hurriedly 
Into Jane's Kitchen — Lame, Muddy, Not Over 
Pretty, Quacking Right Saucily, Their Ugly 
Voices Were Xylophonely Youthfully Zealous. 

Your good friend, Mr. Meredith Nugent, has 
sent you a very strange picture of a tree, and a 
most interesting account of how it was made to 
grow so quccrly. As a rule, I do not approve of 
twisting live things out of their natural shape ; but 
for all that, wc will now allow Mr. Nugent to tell 

Dkak Jack: One of the greatest attractions in the 
Jardin d'Acclimatation, in Paris, is a curiously shaped 
tree, leaning for support against a 
light iron framework. 

Five little ash-trees growing 
within a few inches of one 
another were grafted into 
one thick stem when about 
a foot from the ground. 
The trees took kindly to 
the companionship, and 
grew up together for more 
than ten inches, when the 
partnership was dissolved, and 
the stem separated into two 
parts. Each part was forced to travel 
for a short distance in opposite direc- 
tions and ,at right angles to the main 
stem, when the course was changed to 
a perpendicular one. Then each stem 
turned tlirce times around, forming 
three beautiful spirals, and when both 
hafi mounted a little higher they were 
turned inward and united. Again 
they were parted, and again met, 
after having formed a triangle. Up 
they grew in close companion- 
ship for quite a distance, when 
another evolution had to be 
performed, this time in the 
shape of a graceful loop. 
Meeting again, the 
trees took a longer 
journey together, 
but their trainer 
parted them once 
again. This time 
they were trained 
into a new shape, 
as you can see in 
the picture I send 
you, and the five 
little ash-trees were 
once more united. 
A (.lUEEK ASM-TREE. ThcH, as If In cele- 

bration of this last grand union, the trees threw out 
numerous leafy branches, surmounting the whole with 
a globe of beautiful green foliage. I rather suspect they 
had eventually to perform more contortions, for on visit- 
ing them one cold day, when the leaves were gone, I 
noticcil that the up]>er branches were bent inward at the 
top as if some other change might yet be made. 



Many a boy and girl who has had " St. 
Nicholas " to read ever since he or she 
could read at all, hardly can imagine a time 
when there was no " St. Nicholas " to make 
its cheerful monthly visits. Yet the maga- 
zine is really only nineteen years old, and 
it never would have had an existence but 
for the faith, enterprise, and foresight of its 
founder, Mr. Roswell Smith, whose death at 
the age of sixty-three years we now sorrow- 
fully record. After a long and trying illness, 
borne b}- him with the courage which char- 
acterized his whole life, he passed away on 
the 19th of April, — just as this June number 
of " St. Nicholas " was ready to be printed. 

Roswell Smith was a New England boy, 
born in Lebanon, Connecticut, and lived, in 
his early youth, in the old Trumbull man- 
sion. It was in this house that good Gov- 
ernor Jonathan Trumbull with his soldier 
sons planned aid and comfort to the Revo- 
lution, and there he entertained the great 
men of the day, among them Cieorge Wash- 
ington, Henry Knox, Elbridge Gerry, and 
Samuel Adams. Perhaps it was living in 
this historic house, filled with illustrious 
memories, that gave the boy his deep in- 
terest in American history and American 
literature. Perhaps it was because in his 
uncle's home he heard a good deal about 
books — or it may have been because this 
same uncle, Roswell C. Smith, was a com- 
piler of valuable school-books — that the 
boy found himself at fourteen in the em- 
ploy of his uncle's publishers, gaining his 
first knowledge of the business. Later, he 
went through the English and scientific 
course at Brown University, and afterward 
entered upon the study of law. 

In his twenty-fourth year he married Miss 
Annie Ellsworth — the young lady who is 
known to have .sent over Professor Morse's 

trial line between Baltimore and Washington 
the famous first telegraphic message, " What 
hath God wrought." 

The survivors of Mr. Roswell Smith's im- 
mediate family are his widow, and a daughter, 
the wife of George Inness, Jr., the well-known 
painter, with whose works many of our readers 
are familiar. 

Forty years ago the West was much far- 
ther off than it is to-day ; and when Roswell 
Smith, the young lawyer and business man, 
had left the quiet old Connecticut village, 
and settled in Lafayette, Indiana, to begin 
life for himself, it was felt that he had done 
a very bold and enterprising thing. 

His success justified his course. Before 
he was forty he had acquired an independent 
fortune. But to him that was a good reason 
for undertaking new work. He could now 
carry out a cherished wish : First, he would 
become a publisher ; he would help the world 
to good books — the best books of the best 
kind; and, secondly, he would make them 

In company with his friend Dr. J. G. Hol- 
land, and the firm of Charles Scribner & Co., 
he had already founded "Scribner's Monthly," 
now " The Century Magazine," when his de- 
sire to establish an ideal juvenile periodi- 
cal resulted in their starting " St. Nicholas." 
From the issue of its first number, in 1873, un- 
til the time of his late illness, his zealous inter- 
est and liberal encouragement never flagged. 
The children, he insisted should have " the 
very best magazine that could be made." 

But " The Century " and " St. Nicholas " 
did not exhaust his abounding energy. As 
President of The Century Company, he pro- 
jected and carried through, besides other very 
important publications, the new " Century 
Dictionary." This dictionary he resolved 
should be more complete, more accurate, 

and iniiro interesting than any dictionary 
ever comj)iled ; and though the undertak- 
ing required far more time and very much 
more money than was at first thought pos- 
sible, its liberal projector counted no cost too 
great for the carrying out of his plan. He 
lived to see the work successfully completed, 
and to know that already it was recognized 
by scholars as the standard general diction- 
ary of the English language. 

Throughout Mr. Smith's career, he was am- 
bitious for the work in hand rather than for 
himself. His successes were those of a brave, 
able, honorable, and just-minded Christian, 
who did with his might whatever he found it 
right to do. The very titles of the two little 
stories that he wrote for " St. Nicholas " seem 
now to have a special significance : " The 
Boy who Worked," and " Litde Holdfast." 

In his business Mr. Roswell Smith mani- 
fested a love of equity and fair play, quick re- 
cognition of the rights of others, and a readi- 

ness to afford his co-workers opportunities of 
advancement. It has been well said that his 
best )ears were given to his work as busi- 
ness manager and president of The Century 
Company, and the history of its success is 
the story of his life. 

Every lad who reads these lines may find 
encouragement in his example. This boy, in 
starting out in life, had no essential help from 
others. His far-seeing mind and willing hands 
enabled him to make his way to places of 
honor and usefulness; and, above all, the 
world is the better for his having lived in it. 
The " Century Magazine," '• St. Nicholas," 
and the great " Century Dictionary " have 
brought pleasure and knowledge and beauty 
into a million homes. Through these their 
founder still abides : 

Alike in life and death, 

When life in death survives, 

And the uninterrupted breath 
Inspires a thousand lives. 

immw, iii,«.i-ii'ii<ii.u.}wi- .jiy^pp^"*^^^ 



I AM very glad to learn, through a little correspondent of 
St. Nicholas, where the " Story of Red Cap," to which 
I alluded in the last chapter of " When I was Your Age," 
may be found. It is in " Malleville," one of the Fran- 
conia stories, by Jacob Abbott ; and I advise all boys and 
girls to read it, as I mean to do. L. E. R. 

"The Columbia" is a twelve-page, amateur maga- 
zine, edited and printed by Edward Stone, of Charles- 
town, New Hampshire, a boy nine years old. We have 
enjoyed reading the three copies sent us, and find the con- 
tents varied and interesting. Mr. Stone's use of capitals 
is particularly bold and original. 

benches in it. It was very cold, but we were well 
wrapped up. Most of us, instead of sitting in the seats, 
climbed on the sides or ran beside it. Sometimes one 
would lose his hat or tumble off, so we frequently had 
to stop. 

For refreshments we had doughnuts and oranges. 

When we got to Lexington we stopped at every histori- 
cal house. Every house that was standing during the 
revolution is marked, so we knew which they were. We 
also saw the battle-ground and the monument. 

On our way home we »-ent into a half-finished house. 
One of my friends went into the cellar and had very hard 
work to get out, for the snow was so deep his rubber 
boots came off and he ran in his stocking feet to the pung. 
He looked very funny. 

Yours, Richard D . 

Kansas City, Mo. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you almost as 
long as I remember, and we like you better every month. 
I have two sisters and a brother. We used to have 
a beautiful St. Bernard dog ; he would do nearly every- 
thing you told him ; but we moved to Missouri and had 
to leave him behind. 

Your devoted reader, Edward A. B . 


Dear St. Nicholas : I am fourteen years old, and 
have a rifle, thirty-two caliber, with which I go hunting 
nearly every Saturday. 

I have been taking the St. Nicholas ever since I was 
large enough to read, and before I was, my motlier used 
to take me on her lap and read to me. I like to take it, 
and shall continue to do so as long as I can. I '11 close 
for this time. 

Yours respectfully, C. R. Y . 

Nan.^ngo, Queensland, Australia. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We, Constance and Edythe 

.S , like your stories very much, especially " Crowded 

Out o' Crofield." We do not go to school, but we are 
taught at home by a governess. We get two volumes 
of St. Nicholas every Christmas for a present from our 
uncle, who lives in Brisbane. We have never been to 
Englantl yet, but we hope to go to Yorkshire some day, 
as I have an aunt who lives at Ripon. We have a horse 
named " Miss Lincoln." My brother Helby is very fond 
of riding ; so are we. We also have two very nice dogs 
named " Jack " and " Girlie." Father has lots of horses. 
One is so tame it will eat bread out of our hands. We 
have two very pretty parrots called " Blue Mountaineers," 
and we had three green "leeks " (they are parrots), but 
my brother left the cage door open and they flew away. 
We remain your great friends, 

Constance and Edythe S . 

West Bay City, Mich. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl ten years old, 
and have long wanted to write to you. I do not know 
how many letters I have commenced, but have never had 
the courage to send one. We live in the country ; I have 
a sister fifteen years old who attends school in the city. 
She spends Saturday and Sunday at home. I was very 
lonely without her at first, but am getting used to having 
her away now. We have good times wdien she is home. 
Our school-house is just across the road from our house. 
I often wish it was farther away, so I could carry my 
dinner as the other children do; but mama says she is 
glad I do not have any farther to go when it storms, and 
I am glad of that too. The country is level here, so we 
cannot slide down-hill as papa and mama did when they 
were young. We draw each other on sleds instead. 

We have taken you since my sister has been old enough 
to read, and are always glad when you come. 

Your loving friend, FLORENCE D . 

Cambridge, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I shall tell you about a sleigh. 

ride we had. It was a bright and windy morning that 

we started for Lexington. We were aliout twenty in 

all, and we went in a furniture pung which had some 

Freiburg, Germany. 
Daer St. Nicholas : My Uucle Ernest sent me your 
two volumes of 1891, and I like to read them very much, 
I am nine years old, and was born in New York. We are 
staying at Freiburg now, and like being here very much. 
One walk I particularly enjoyed, called the " Schauins- 
land," rather a high hill to climb. Other walks are 
called" Waldsea," " Schlossberg," " Rosskopf," and "St. 
Ottilien." We could not enjoy sleigh-driving much this 
year, for there was not enough of snow. 

Your little reader, Freddie M. H . 

Dedham, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little Enghsh boy, and 
live in Dedham. I have a friend staying with me now. 
The coasting has gone, but it was good when we had 
it. I have a little brother wdio is four years old, and his 
name is Howell. He is a nice little boy. One day he 
was out playing, and Jessie saw him looking up at tlie 
sky, and he said : " I think I hear a scare-crow .' 

H. M ,JR. 

Many young friends whose letters are not acknowl- 
edged this month will hear from us in the July number. 

respeclfully informed thai, between the ist of June ; 

the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those 

will please postpone sendiiiK their MSS. 

nd the 15th of September, 
ivho desire to favor the magaz 
intil after the last-named date. 

ntly be 

W^WIR'- 1(1 PlZ/l.l S IX rHK M \V .NLMl'.l.K 

WoKD-SQlAKE. I. ViLl!.! I L rb III 5 Abate. 4. Satyr. Uiaconal Puzzle. Dickens. Cross-words: i. ncfcats. 2. Fic- 
■ Inert. tion. 3. Enchant. 4. Packing. 5. Conveys. 6. Cunning. 7. En- 
gages. Codicil. C, 10, CI. DL. 

Central Acrostic. Central letters. Fidus Achates. Cross- 
words : I. Lifts. 2. Brine. 3. Model. 4. Fluke. 5. Gusto. 6. Slake. 
7. Vocal. 8. Sahib. 9. Crane. 10. Betel. 11. Cleft. 12. Caste. 

WoRD-BUILUl.\*G. A, an, nag. gain, grain, airing, raining, train- 
ing, straining, restaining, restraining. 
Single Acrostic. Second row of letters, squilgee. Cross-words; 

1. Astern. 2. Equine. 3. Fugues. 4. Minton. 5. Alkali. 6. Ig- 
nore. 7. Fealty. 8. Hearth. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, Flageolet. Cross-words : i. Benefices. 

2. Grilled. _ 3. Flame. 4. Ago. 5. E. 6. Con. 7. Bales. 8. Calends. 


15 to 16, Un 

I 8. endeavors: 
■s : 3 to 7. tome : 7 to 10, ele- 
6 to 9, ; 9 to 12, noxious: 
13 to IS, gnu; 13 to 14, guy; 

to 8, lass ; 81 
n ; I to 2, spy : 

to 20, warble, 
zine, must be received not later than the rsth of each month, : 
:nturv Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

ved, before March 15th, from Rosalie liloomingdale — "The 

DouBl-K Acrostics. I. Initials, Venus; finals. Earth. Cross- 
words : 1. Verse. 2. Extra. 3. Niter. 4. Upset. 5. South. 
1 1 . Initials, Uranus ; finals, Saturn. Cross-words ; 1. Uranus. 
2. Russia. 3. Ararat. 4. Nassau. 5. Usurer. 6. Severn. 

Beheadings. Moltke. i. M-agnate. a. O.void. 3. L-anguish. 

4. T-erse. 5. K-etch. 6. £-quip. 
Double Squares. I. r. Papaw. 2. Aroma. 3. Power. 4. Amend. 

5. Wards. II. i. Occur. 2. Crane. 3. Calif. 4. Unite. 5. Refer. 
NU.MERICAL Enigma. " If thou wouldst profit by thy read- 
ing, read humbly, simply, honestly, and not desiring to win a char- 
acter for learning." 

Pi. One sunbeam shot across a cloudy day 

Can brighten all the drear expanse of skies; ' Cottage Puzzle. 

One loving smile can make a weary way ^^ ,^ j ^ tellurium * 

A path to paradise. 
Rhomboid. Across: i. Amende. 2. -\reola. 3. Assail. 4. Tet- 
rad. 5. Deemed. 6. Drawee. 
Anagram. Rudyard Kipling. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the mag 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The C 
.\nswers to all the Puzzles in the March Number w 
McG.'s"— Maude E. Palmer — Arthur Gride — -A. H. R. and M. G. R.— L O. E.— Ida C.Trlcton Thallon —Alice Mildred Blanke 
and Co.— Paul Reese— Florence A. Cragg — C, -M. D.— The Spencers— E. M. G.— Helen C. McClcary — NoName, Chicago — Jose- 
phine Sherwood — "Leather-stocking" — "Uncle Mung" — "The Wise Five" — " Suse " — Jo and I — Chester B. S. — No Name, 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 15th, from Edith A. G. Evans. 2 — Lulu. 1 — War and 
Ma. I — H. C. Murray, I— NoName, Orange, N. J.,2 — M. M. Butler, 2 — A. F. Race, i —Susan Witmer F., 2 — W. B. Hait, Jr., i — E. 
R. Congdon, i— H. and H. Stewart, i —" Company Q," i — Beatrice F. M., i — F. M. Lazonby, i— L. F. Estrada, i— A. W. Tate, 
and her Mama, 3— W. Jordan, i — J. D. P.. i — M. L. Youngs, i — L. B. Youngs, i — F. H. and E. Barren, i — Emilie O. M., i — 

F. S. Noteman. i — C. J. Ketchum. 2— J. Bush, i — S. A. Gardner. 2— F. Snow, i — M. Sprague, 2 — E. La Rochelle. 3 — C. Ches- 
ter, I — " The Twins." i — Helen and Jimmie, i — B. F. Baer. i — A. L. Wall, i — " Leaf." 2—" Two Huckleberries," i — V. Talbott. i — 
A. Reynolds, 2 — F. Beecher. 2- W. T. B. and C. W. B., 2 — L. Stedman, 2— A. J. Girault, i — B. Grefe, i — R. W. Grefe. I — Lillian 
R., 2 — A. O. Harris, i — N. Harris, i — O. Gale, 3 — M. Lans, i — C. H. Munch, i — C. F. Hill, i — Effie K. Talboys, 9 — Tottie, i — 
.M.Stewart, i— J. M. H.,2— G. B. B., i— Ernest and Charley, 2— "Only I." 2 — A. Cottrell, i — C. Sidell P., 3 — E. S. Schmitt. i — 
J. B. French. 2— Jeannie F., i —" Prince Phil," 1 — L. Griffin, i — C. E. Bates. 2 — G. Beecroft, i — Marguerite, Annie, and 
Emily. 4 —" Daisy Chain." 6— Marie B..2— NL Hunter, i — J. B. Woodhull, i— Elaine S,. 4 — L. S. Hopper, i — F. Wilcox, i — 
H. Handy. 3 — Willie S. B.. 9 — N. Hutton. i- J. Childs. 3 — Bill and Mary. 8 — E. Goldsmith, i- H. V. White, i — A. B. Dough- 
ten. i—R. Mitchell. 2 — B. Hanigan, 1— Mama and Ella, i — Grandma and Carrie, 2 — Emilie B.. 3—" Pansy and Violet," 3 — W. S. 
Cochran, i — R. D. C, s — ^L C. Griffin, i — Helen and Marguerite, 3 — G. Burnett, 2 — M., i — S. E. Steinniever, 1 — " May anti 
■79." 7— M E Evans, I— M.S. B. and Co., 3— U. G. Bealh, 2 — H. C. Murray, i — S. W. Kaufmann, 2— W.'Robcrts, 1 — J. B. 
Brinsmaid, 2— M. Hamilton, 2 — Bertha M. and Ella F., i- S. Barber, i— Ethel, i— Gugga, 2 — Harry and Mama, 6— E. and A. 
Sonntag, 2 — D. Allen, 2 — .\ M. and A. J. Johnson, 3 — D. E. .\rmstrong, 3 — No Name, Normal Park, 3 — Amanda E. T., 9— "Lyn- 
dego," 3 — Clara and Hollie A., I — E. Stoiber, i— W. H. Clarke, 3— L. E. Rosenberg, i — Theo. Goetze. 3d, 2— " Star, "^2 — B. C. 
Torre. 3 — W. P. Howe, 4 — E. K, 4 — D. F. Hereford and D. W. \V. Wilson, 6 — Pinkie, 1 — Blanche and Fred. 10 — J. P.Jones, 3 — 
" Lady Jane," i—" We Girls," 9 — H. Mason, 2— J. Chapman, 10 — Ed and Bradley, 9 — Hubert L. Bingay, o - Mama and Haltie, 2 — 

G. Stang, 2— G. Peirce, i— N. Archer, 3— "Jack Dandy," 10— E. C. Gardner, 2 — Wm. Van and Parents, 3 — H. D. Brig- 
ham, 10 — A. C. Leaycraft. 2 — N. L. Howes, 10 — Grace and Nan, 8— McA. Moore, i — H. S. Coats, i — " The Partners," 8 — 
"3 Blind Mice," 2 — N. K. Sheldon, i — D. L. Newton, 2 — G. W. Lyon, i — L. Don, 2 — Grace A. L., i — Mathilde F. and Sue H., i 
J. Bennett, j — E. A. Bell, 2. 


By starting at the right letter in one of the following 
words, and then taking every third letter, a couplet may 
be formed. 


O. B. G. 

E.XAMPLE. Syncopate to fasten, and leave part of the 
face, .\ns\ver, ch-a-in, chin. 

I. Syncopate part of a house, and leave a strong cur- 
rent of air. 2. Syncopate to report, and leave a small 
species of herring. 3. Syncopate prongs, and leave fas- 
tenings. 4. Syncopate one who asks, and leave a tribe 

8. Syncopate a river of France, and leave erudition. 

9. Syncopate pertaining to the sun, and leave to ascend. 

10. Syncopate sorrow, and leave an opening. 

The ten syncopated letters will spell the name of a 
famous battle fought in June, many years ago. 

F. S. F. 

A DISTINGUISHED man of letters : 



Across: i. Barrels or casks. 2. .V cloth used for 
wiping. 3. The principal post of a staircase. 4. To 
revive. 5. A ma.sculine name. 

Downward : i. In coward. 2. A preposition. 3. \ 

mentioned in the Bible. 5. .Syncopate a vision, and leave .Spanish title. 4. A pitcher. 5. A drain. 6. A kind of 
a liquid measure. 6. Syncopate heals, and leave catch- cotton fabric. 7. Part of a chair. 8. A pronoun. 9. In 
words. 7. .Syncopate a green fly, and leave the honey-bee. coward. B. 


TIIK Rmi)[.E-H()\. 

When the above birds liave been rightly named, the 
initial letters will spell a well-loved season. 


• 3 ■ 13 • 

. . . 4 . . 14 

. . 5 . . 15 . 

6 . . . 16 . . 

7 . 17 . 

. S . ,. 18 

Ckoss-vvords : I. Lees. 2. Haifa tone. 3. Over- 
coming. 4. Contiguous. 5. Disqualified. 6. A box in 
a theater near the stage. 7. To reach beyond. 8. Hav- 
ing sjiarp points. 9. Nuptials. 10. A small dagger. 

Zigzags, from I to 10, the name of a city in Russia 
w-hich was bombarded on June 6, 1855; from II to 20, 
the name of a battle fought on June 9, iSoo. F. s. F. 


My Jirs/ each morning greets the ear 
With sweetest music, rich and clear; 

My second will the rider need 
To urge along his lagging steed. 

While 'mid old-fashioned flowers, maybe, 
The petals of my whole you 'II see. 



My primals, reading downward, spell the name of a 
Scotch naturalist who, in 184S, conducted an expedition 
sent to search for Sir John Franklin ; my finals, reading 
upward, spell the name of a President of the United 

Cross-words (of unequal length): i. A Jew. 2. In- 
cidental. 3. A .Spanish title. 4. A drug wliich produces 
sleep. 5. jet black. 6. A letter. 7. Incessant. 8. Cour- 
age. 9. An ancient two-handled vessel. 10. Disordered. 
II. .\ goddess. 12. To hasten. 13. A ball. 14. A disease 
affecting a nerve. kthel Sutton. 


Whe.v the following names have been rightly guessed 
and placed one below another, the initial letters will spell 
the name of a character called ''Lignum Vita"." 

Cross-words : i. The Christian name of a young man 
who was bound to be jolly under creditable circumstances. 
2. The surname of a young lady who was an acquaintance 
of the Veneerings. 3. The surname of the young man 
who married "the dearest girl in the world." 4. The 
Christian name of an untidy nurse-maid. 5. The sur- 

name of a very " humble " young 
man. 6. The Christian name of Little 
Dorrit's brother. 7. The surname of a man who warned 
his son against widows. 8. The surname of a major 
who was " sly." 9. Tlie Christian name of David Copper- 
field's second wife. 10. The surname of a professional 
nurse. 11. The name of Mrs. Jariey's httle assistant. 
12. The Christian name of a daughter of Wilkins 
Micawber. 13. The surname of a woman who kept a 
commercial boarding-house. c. m^g. 


When the following words have been rightly guessed, 
and placed one below another, in the order here given, 
one of the rows of letters, reading downward, will spell 
a licensed beggar. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : i. A kind of type. 
2. The arch-fiend. 3. Fat. 4. The name of several 
evergreen trees. 5. Brittle. 6. To flicker. 7. Not 
luminous. 8. To invest. 9. .Sky-blue. 10. A female 
relative. II. Frozen. o. B. G. 


I. I.N January. 2. To sip. 3. Possessing savor. 4. The 
father of gods and men. 5. Forceful. 6. An Algerian 
dignitary. 7. In January. A. P. C. A. 


I. LfpPER Square: i. Regularity. 2. A river of 
Europe. 3. A small sofa. 4. To decree. 5. Breaks. 

II. Left-ha.nd Square: i. A flower. 2. To climb. 
3. Seized. 4. To choose for office. 5. Fissures. 

III. Central Square : l. Fissures. 2. A masculine 
name. 3. The point opposite to the zenith. 4. Race. 
5. To scatter. 

IV. Right-hand Square: 1. To spread abroad. 
2. To come in contact with. 3. A Russian coin. 4. Ap- 
plause. 5. Stimulates. 

V. Lower Square : i. To disseminate. 2. A form 
of head-dress worn by the ancient Persians. 3. A sharp 
instrument. 4. To eat away. 5. Merchandise. 

M. a. s. 





(SEE PAGE 646.) 


Vol. XIX. 

JULY, 1892. 

No. 9. 


By Victor Mapks. 

I i>oN'r know liow you feel about an Ameri- often ini'aim onlv so mucli cloth made u|) of 

can flag, but it has often occurred to me that red, white, and blue patches. 
most of us, to tell the truth, have very little feel- At any rate, that is what a little boy I know 

ing about it. I don't mean by this that we are thought about it when he started to go 

not patriotic — that wc would n't march up to abroad with nic last May — or, to be more 

the cannon's mouth, if we were called upon to accurate, would have thought, had an occa- 

do so, as ([uickly as the Englishman, the Ger- sion ever come up to make him tliink about 

man, or anybody else. But our country is so it at all. 

peaceful, and we see so many flags, nearly every But two litde adventures this boy took part 
day, drooping lazily from flagpoles on the tops in, some time after he arrived on the other .side 
of big Ijuildings, or carried on picnic parades, or of the ocean, have changed this feeling some- 
stuck in the collars of ice-cart horses or — where what. He has been back in America a number 
not? that we are very apt to pass by a flag with- of months now, but it was only yesterday that 
out noticing it. If it does chance to engage our he said to mc : 

attention, we remark, perhaps, that it is faded or " Do you know. Uncle Jack, every time 1 .see 
bright, large or small, of silk or of bunting, or an American flag in the street, I can't help think- 
something of the sort ; and that is as much feel- ing that ]jeople who have never been abroad 
ing as the sight of it ever inspires. really don't know what our flag means." 

Uf course, Americans who are old enough And I am half inclined to think the little bo\ 
to keep memories of the war in their hearts was right. For myself, at any rate, I must con- 
are likely to feel a little differently about the fess I was never conscious that I had the slight- 
matter. For them the flag may call up rem- est bit of patriotism in me, or any attac hment 
iniscences of the old strong feeling. But for to the red, white, and blue flag, until 1 went to 
us who were squalling in days, or not yet the great Alhaml)ra theater in London and saw- 
admitted to the light of day, the flag too our flag brought upon the stage by a dancing- 
Copyright, 1892, by Thb Centirv Co. All righu i 



girl who entered to the tune of " The Star-Span- 
gled Banner." Then I felt tears on my cheeks 
and knew I was an American. 

A great many of our countrymen, I fancy, on 
going abroad, have experienced some such feel- 
ing. But the two adventures that Frank, the 
little boy I am talking of, had in Paris last 
summer, were curious enough perhaps to be 
worth while telling about. 

When the Fourth of July came, we had been 
abroad nearly two months, and during that time 
I think we had not seen a single American flag. 
On the morning of the Fourth, however, we 
walked out on the Paris boulevards, and a num- 
ber of flags were hanging out from the differ- 
ent American shops, which are quite frequent 
there. They looked strange to us; and the 
idea occurred to Frank, for the first time, that 
the United States was one of a great many 
nations Hving next to one another in this world 
— that it was his own nation, a kind of big 
family he belonged to. The Fourth of July 
was a sort of big, family birthday, and the 
flags were out so as to tell the Frenchmen and 
everybody else not to forget the fact. 

A feehng of this nature came over Frank that 
morning, and he called out, "There 's another!" 
every time a new flag came in view. He stopped 
two or three times to count the number of them 
in sight, and showed in various ways that he, 
America, and the American flag had come to 
a new understanding with one another. 

During the morning, Frank's cousin George, 
a boy two or three years older than Frank, who 
had been in Paris the preceding winter, came 
to our hotel ; and, as I had some matters to at- 
tend to in the afternoon, they went off together 
to see sights and to have a good time. 

When Frank returned about dinner-time, and 
came up to the room where I was writing let- 
ters, 1 noticed a small American-flag pin stuck 
in the lapel of his coat. 

" George had two," he said in answer to my 
question ; " and he gave me this one. He 's 
been in Paris a year now, and he says we 
ought to wear them or maybe people won't 
know we 're Americans. But say, Uncle Jack, 
where do you think I got that ? " He opened 
a paper bundle he had under his arm and un- 
rolled a weather-beaten American flag. 


" Where ? " asked I, naturally supposing it 
came from George's house. 

" We took it off of Lafayette's tomb." 

I opened my eyes in astonishment ; whilu he 
went on : 

" George says the American Consul, or the 
American Consul-General, or somebody, put 
it on the tomb last Fourth of July, for our 
government, because Lafayette, don't you know, 
helped us in the Revolution." 

" They ought to put a new flag on every 
year, George says," explained Frank, seeing 
my amazement, " on Fourth of July morning. 
But the American Consul, or whoever he is 
that 's here now, is a new man, George thinks ; 
anyhow, he forgot to do it. So we bought a 
new flag and we did it. 

" There were a lot of people at the tomb 
when we went there, and we guessed they were 
all waiting to see the new flag put on. We 
waited, too, but no soldiers or anybody came ; 
and after a while the people all went away. 
Then George said : 

'"Somebody ought to put on a new flag — 
let 's do it ! ' 

" We went to a store on the Boulevard, and 
for twenty francs bought a new flag just like 
this old one. George and I each paid half. 
There were two women and a little girl at the 
tomb when we got back, and we waited till 
they went away. Then we unrolled the new- 
flag and took the old one off the tomb. 

" We thought we ought to say something 
when we put the new flag on, but we did n't 
know what to say. George said they always 
made a regular speech thanking Lafayette for 
helping us in the Revolution, but we thought it 
did n't matter much. So we just took off our 
hats when we spread out the new flag on the 
grave, and then we rolled up the old flag and 
came away. 

" We drew lots for it afterw-ard, and I 'm 
going to take it back home w-ith me. 

" Somebody ought to have done it, and as 
we were both American boys, it was all right, 
was n't it ? " 

Right or wrong, the flag that travelers see 
on Lafayette's tomb this year, as a mark of 
the American nation's sentiment toward the 
great Frenchman, is the one put there by two 


small, self-appointed representatives. And the 
flag put there the year before, with fitting 
ceremony by the authorized official, Frank pre- 
serves carefully hung up on the wall of his little 
room in America. 

If this reaches the notice of the American 
Consul-General at Paris, or other official charged 
with such ceremonies, it is to be hoped he will 
take no offense. And perhaps he may be re- 
minded that by next Fourth of July the flag 
now on duty wDl have become weather-beaten 
like its predecessor. 

Ten days after this adventure came the four- 
teenth of July, the great " Quatorze Juillet," 
which, I believe, was the day on which the 
French people stormed the grim old Bastille 
and cried, " Down with the tyranny of kings ! " 
With the French people it is much the same 
.sort of a day as our Fourth of July is to us, only 
they display a great deal more enthusiasm. The 
little French boys don't shoot off" fire-crackers 
all day in the streets, to frighten horses, scorch 
their fingers, and make mothers and people, 
generally, nervous. But there is a great mili- 
tary parade reviewed by the President, there 
are music-pavilions built up on comers and 
public places throughout Paris ; and at night, 
while gorgeous fireworks are being set off, men, 
women, and children throng the streets and 
dance and sing till daylight is about ready to 
share the fun. 

Well, the morning of that great day, George, 
as usual, came round to the hotel ; and I asked 
the two boys if they would like to go after 
lunch to see the great military review at Long- 
champs, where President Camot was going to 
have some thirty thousand French soldiers 
march past his stand and salute him. 

But George thought it would be more fun to 
take a carriage and drive about Paris to see all 
the people celebrating. It would be hot and 
crowded at Longchamps, and we could n't 
hope to get a sight of President Cannot; so 
Frank and I agreed with George. 

Before we started out, Frank suggested that 
we should get two big flags, of just the .same 
size — one -American red, white, and blue, and 
the other French red, white, and blue, and take 
them along in the carriage with us. " Don't 
you see," he explained, " we '11 carry the .\mer- 


ican flag, to show we 're .Americans, and the 
French flag '11 be to show we 're glatl they 're 
celebrating ! " 

So they brought the two flags, — fine large 
ones they were, — and Frank with the Ameri- 
can flag got up alongside the coachman on 
the box, while George and I put the French 
flag between us, to drag out behind. 

In this way we drove about through the 
crowded streets and saw the celebration. And 
several times when the crowds of French peo- 
ple around some music-stand saw us coming, 
they cheered our flags — a mark of attention 
that delighted Frank and George immensely. 

After driving about from place to place in 
different sections of the great city, we found 
ourselves once more back on the boulevards, 
and we were soon crossing the Place de la Con- 
corde, to enter the Champs Elysees, that beau- 
tiful green avenue leading straight up to the 
Arc de Triomphe, when suddenly Frank gave a 
shout from the box. 

" Look ! " he called out. " There come some 
soldiers ! " 

Crowds of people were standing along the 
walks on either side of the avenue, all gazing 
up toward the Arc de Triomphe. Yes ; there 
were soldiers on horseback coming right down 
toward us. Then far-away shouts reached our 
ears from the crowds ahead, where the soldiers 
were. We could see the people waving hats 
and handkerchiefs. 

" Look at the pistols," cried Frank from the 
box. " They 're holding them right up in the 
air. What 's that for ? " 

"They 're cuirassiers," George called back. 
" They 're a body-guard. It must be some- 
body — " 

" C'esf le Piesident de la Republiqtie .' " ejacu- 
lated the coachman, as the soldiers drew down 
upon us at a rapid pace. 

We were within fifty yards of them now, and 
could see everything plainly. There, in front, 
were the two large cuirassiers, with shining 
breastplates and helmets, each with a cocked 
revolver held out in the air at arm's-length. 
Behind came the President's carriage drawn by 
four coal-black horses, with postilions in daz- 
ling liveries, then two more cuirassiers with 
drawn pistols followed by a troop of cavalry. 


On they came. Our coachman stupjjcii his 
horses. The people were shouting and cheering 
on all sides — " Lc /'irsidfii/ .' " " Cariiot .'" 

He was alniijsl ahrcasl of us and close liy, 
when suddenly I iioliccd thai he was looking in 
our direction, and all eyes were lunied louarcl 
our carriage. 

ll was the American Hag! 

There it was, floating proiuily a lull in the 
hands of our Utile hoy on the front se;it. And 
when Frank saw the President right ahreast of 
him, and everybody looking at his Hag, with- 
out a sign of hesitation he stood straight u|i, 
held the flag as high in the air as he could, and 
dipped a salute to the President of the P'rench 
Republic! The crowd was cheering wildly. 
President Carncit moved forward a little in his 


seal, litlrd iiis hat, and bowed low to Frank 
anil Ihr American flag. 

And then in a second he IkuI passed. 

And this Hag, I ihink, is prized i.i\ i'rank even 
more than the other. At least, whenever he 
lakes anybody up to his room, he always says 
lirst : 

•• This is the llag that was on Lafayette's 
tomb," and then in a more impressive voice, 
•■That's the (Hie President C'arnot took off 
his hat to." 

ISul those tu(i flags are not the only ones 
that mean anytliing to him. Kvery flag he sees 
on the street, he realizes, might have been on 
Lafayette's tomb, or might have been bowed to 
by President Carnot. 

A .^.^^^^'* 




THK S'n;i)I()-l!OY. 

I'.Y M. (). K(ii;i-.K, 

' Look well at me as I pass by ; 
My sister's studio-boy am I. 
She trusts me with her pots and jians 
Her brushes and her vamish-cans. 
She lets me stand her easel up. 
And pour ijueer mixtures in a cup. 

I am her model, too, you see ; 

I hel])ed her draw this sketch of me. 

Papa thinks it 's too thin and tall ; 

Mama says it 's too fat and small ; 

I!ut we two artists both agree 

It 's just as good as it can be. 

h — -d 

But, alas! when all 's complete 
Comes this message from the fleet,- 
Might the admiril dire to bring 
To thib goodly githenn^ 
AH his officers and then 


By Nora Perry. 

Quoth the governor to his dame, 
When the French fleet sailing came 
Into Massachusetts bay, 
■' We must make a feast straightway, 
Spread a board of bounteous cheer 
For the gallant admiral here." 
Nothing loath, the three-years bride, 
Fair Dame Dorothy, complied. 
And with fine housewifely zeal 
Planned at once a bounteous meal 
Fit to set before a king, 
Or a kingly following. 

\|1 v»- 

^% ^2.' 


Certain o( his niiilshipmen?" 
Who can paint the dire dismay 
Of Dame Dorothy that day ? 
Thirty guests she 'd bidden there; 
Now so late as this prepare 
For a hundred more, nt least? 


There they milked the grazing herd, 
At the (ah yoimg madam's word, 
While the townsfolk stood and stared, 
Wondering how she ever dared 
Take such liberties as these 
Without even " If you jjlease." 

Just a moment stood she there. 
In irresolute despair, — 
Just a breathless moment, — then, 
She doth call her maids and men, 
And herself doth lead them down 
To the green mall of the town. 
Where her neighbors' cattle graze 
All along the grassy ways. 

But straight on the milking went, 
While the fair young housewife sent 
Mounted messengers here and there, 
Borrowing of her neighbors' fare. 
Not a neighbor said her nay 
On that memorable day. 
Fruit, and sweets, and roasted game 
From their larders freely came, — 



Cnkc-, .111(1 (lauitiL'.s of the bcht, 
\I Daiiic Dorothy's request. 
I'hrii triumphantly she flew, 
S|irrail her laMcs all aiu-w, 
\\hi|il hir liiainini; milk 1" Livain, 
While jtist ilown the harbor stream 
She iiiuld see tli' apiiroaching guests 

With their slarreil and rililmneil breasts. 

Long before that (la\ was done 

.Ml the townsfolk, e\ery one. 

Were tlie\ young <ir were llie\' old. 

Laughed a]ii]laii(lingly w hen told 

How dame Hancock spread her feast 

for •• a hundred more at least." 




Cri&cl cx Cei.1 to his >A/lfe/ , Soc, niy de^ar. 

The- su.p(i.rle>.live/ Olrcus is Kore^ ! 

"Will-t. ikc^ oKilcl-rc^n. na/C/'U go, -'lis ou,v clu-ly, you. Kno-w. 

Tha^ir ■you.iia u^in.d,s lo e-nligKla-ii e\,yitX cliC/iz-i-. 


1!\ iMARV Shears Roiserts. 


BKsinKs JelTrey Hiulson, the rojal Iiounu- 
hold of Charles 1. boasted of two other LilHini- 
tians in the persons of Richard Gibson and his 
wee wife, Anne. 

This wedded pair of midgets were of pre- 
ci.seiy the same height, each measuring three 
feet two inches. Young Gibson was not quite 
so symmetrical as Jeftrey, and he was not so 
elegant in manner as the queen's favorite, but 
he had the intellect of a man, a most lovable 
disposition, and a talent for painting, which 
last gave him a fame quite apart from the dis- 
tinction enjoyed by the dwarf Hudson, as a 
royal plaything. 

Richard was more famed for his artistic abil- 
ity than for his tiny stature. Jeffrey attached 
himself particularly to Henrietta, and looked 
with jealous eyes upon his more talented rival ; 
but Gibson found great favor with the king, 
became his Majesty's portrait- painter, and was 
made I'age of the Back Stairs. 

His little wife was in the service of the 
([ueen, and was thoroughly disliked by Jeffrey, 
who wished to be first and favorite in every- 
thing ; but Anne and Richard were friends from 
the first time they met in the Palace of St. 

(iibson, comtnonly called the Dwarf Artist, 
was born in 1615 in the northwest corner of 
iMiglantl, where the picturesque crags and 
])eaks of Cumberland are mirrored in the beau- 
tiful lakes at their feet. His parents were in 
very humble circumstances, and his father 
tended sheep and tilled a little farm. 

In those days dwarfs were in such demand 
among the nobility that poor people were in- 
clined to regard the birth of one as a piece of 
good luck for the family ; and when it became 
known that Dame Ciibson's baby was a very 
small specimen of humanity, all the kind neigh- 

bors came in to congratulate and ])erliaps to 
envy her on account of what the future might 
have in store. " He 's a bonny wee bairn, in- 
deed," exclaimed the mother, who was not al- 
together of this way of thinking. " Many a 
small babie has made a big man, and God 
grant he may reach the height of his father; 
but little or big, not a lord nor a lady in the 
land shall take him fra' me — no, not even the 
king hissel'"; and she clasped the infant tighter 
to her heart. 

" We '11 see about that when the time comes ; 
but little he is, and little he '11 be, and small 
danger that anybody '11 want the boy, much 
less his Majesty, God bless him ! " replied an 
old beldam who was blessed with a larger fam- 
ily of grown-up children than she could well 
care for. 

The woman's prophecy as to the infant's .size 
proved quite true, for he was always " Little 
Gibson " ; but she shot wide of the mark regard- 
ing the royal favor. The child's intellect de- 
veloped much faster than did his body; he 
grew fond of outdoor sports, and archery and 
drawing became his favorite amusements. His 
bows and arrows were made of suitable size for 
him by his father, and his pencils and crayons 
were home-made. 

In his own native Cumberland, close to his 
birthplace, was the famous Borrowdale mine of 
graphite or plumbago, which for many years 
supplied the world with its best pencils. In- 
deed, the first lead-pencils of which there is 
any record were made of the graphite of this 
mine, discovered some fifty years before our 
little artist was bom. 

When Richard was a tiny, toddling boy his 
hands and face were seldom free from the black 
marks of the lead that he always carried about 
with him. He used frequently to be found 
roughly sketching on some piece of board or 
plank any scene that jfleased his fancy. Some- 


times it would be a flock of sheep with their 
shepherd, or again the outhne of the lofty moun- 
tain-peaks that surrounded his humble house. 
For archery his eye was as true as for sketch- 
ing, and that is saying a good deal. 

At an early age, however, against the entreat- 
ies of his fond mother, his father was persuaded 


to take the little fellow away from his outdoor 
sports and pastimes and to carry him up to 
London town. Here he was known for a time 
as the Cumberland pygmy, but he disliked be- 
ing placed on exhibition and he missed the free 
air of his native hills. The roses were leav- 
ing his cheeks and he was beginning to droop, 
when fortunately he attracted the notice of a 
rich and noble lady, who lived at a place called 

This kind dame took a great fancy to the 
litde dwarf, and wanted him for a page. His 
father, by this time grown quite tired of London, 
readily consented to allow the child to enter her 

service. The old shepherd, who was out of 
place in a big city, parted with genuine sorrow 
from his son, and speedily returned to the shee]j- 
fold in the mountains, while Richard went with 
his mistress to her fine house at Mortlake. His 
duties were light, and his spirits revived in his 
new home, which was close to the famous Mort- 
lake tapestry-works, at that time under 
the direct patronage of the king. 

Of course, Gibson was subject to more 
or less teasing from the domestics. The 
servants of his patroness's household 
were inclined to ridicule his small size ; 
but his chief tormentor was the lady's 
butler. He was a very tall man, and 
he used frequently to snatch up the 
dwarf, place him on a high shelf, and 
leave him there till some one chose to 
take him down again. The big man 
did this once too often ; for one day 
Richard, becoming tired of sitting on 
this lofty perch, took a piece of graphite 
from his pocket and drew on the wall 
behind him a free and bold caricature 
of the butler. When the latter saw this 
he was both frightened and amazed. 
He cuffed the young artist as he set 
him on the floor, and attempted to erase 
the picture. My Lady, hearing un- 
usually loud talk, came to see what was 
the matter, and was greatly astonished 
as well as amused at Gibson's work. 
To be sure, the beautiful wall was de- 
faced, but she was an admirer and a 
patron of art, and saw at once that the 
artist of the caricature must possess no 
ordinary talent. Accordingly the butler was 
dismissed, Gibson was praised and encouraged, 
and De Cleyn, master of the tapestry-works, 
was invited to express an opinion on the work 
of the tiny draftsman. 

De Cleyn, too, was amused and impressed both 
by the picture and the page, and, at the lad)''s 
solicitation, readily agreed to give the pygmy 
artist lessons in drawing. Gibson's joy was only 
exceeded by his industry and perseverance, and 
he made rapid progress in his art. About this 
time it happened that the king, while visiting 
the Mortlake works, came suddenly upon the 
quaint little figure of the dwarf sitting upon a 



high stool before an easel busily engaged in 
copying a picture by Sir Peter Lely. 

" What have we here ? " exclaimed his Ma- 
jesty, drawing nearer that he might examine the 
work of this curiously small artist. Great was 
the monarch's amazement when he saw how 
successfully the mid- mm^n^^^mm^^t^^^^^ 
get had imitated thi 
famous work of tlir I 
master, and greater yci 
was the young painter'^ 
astonishment to finil 
himself praised and 
flattered by his august 

Henceforward Rich 
ard's success in lik 
was assured. Ofcoursi 
the lady who had beti; 
so kind to him w.i- 
compelled to part witl; 
her little favorite whc: 
the king intimated hi- 
wish to secure th> 
young man for him 
self; and soon Gibso: 
was established n ■ 
court, where, althougt 
he was Page of th: 
Back Stairs, he founi : 
plenty of time to pur 
sue his artistic studic-. 
which were now di 
rected by no less j 
person than Sir Peti 
Lely himself. 

WhOe our tiny her 
was living at Mortlaki 
little Anne Shepherd 
was acting as a sort of 
diminutive lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of 
Richmond. Her Grace was very fond of the 
gentle Anne, but though kind, she was a very 
silly old woman who loved to make a great 
display of her wealth ; and she was altogether 
so vain and ostentatious that people made as 
much fun of her as they dared to make of so 
exalted a personage. 

Before Anne was out of her teens it came 
to pass that the baby prince, afterward King 


Charles II., was to be christened. His grand- 
mother, Marie de Medicis, had consented to 
act as godmother, but only by proxy, as she 
could not leave France ; so the Duchess of 
Richmond was chosen to take the place of the 
French ([ueen as sponsor to iiis infant Royal 




II II 1 idiliiiiiiSMgMiqM 

Highness. The old dame was so elated at the 
honor conferred upon her that she fairly outdid 
herself in her efforts to shine as a great giver of 
gifts. First, she presented to the infant, who 
was the cause of so grand an occasion, a jewel 
worth some thirty-five thousand dollars ; then 
she brought a nurse down from Wales in order 
to keep up ihe tradition that a Welsh word 
should be the first uttered by every Prince of 
Whales, and she made the honest woman happy 


]))■ giving her a t:hain wovtli a thousand dollars 
more. Indeed, I could not tell you all the silly 
things this silly old woman did. She even went 
so far as to make expensive presents to the 
" royal rockers " engaged to jog the cradle of 
the infant Charles, who, I suppose, behaved 
very much as other babies do, and in spite of 
all his splendor was very fat and very ugly. 

Upon the eventful day the queen sent her 
own state carriage with ever so many lords and 
knights, to bring the bountiful old godmama to 
the christening. There were six footmen and 
six horses with plumes all over them ; and the 
duchess was very proud of the equipage as 
she stepped into the carriage. Little Anne 
Shepherd, who had never seen so fine a sight in 
her life, was lifted up by one of the tall footmen 
and placed opposite to her mistress. There she 
sat, looking very small and demure, till the gilt 
coach reached the Palace of St. James. 

At last, after fifty pounds each had been 
given the knights, and all the coachmen had 
received twenty pounds, and the footmen ten, 
the ceremony was allowed to proceed, and the 
royal baby was baptized. Then her Grace, 
in a final burst of magnificence, wound up the 
whole affair by presenting Anne to the queen ; 
and Henrietta was delighted to have another 
dwarf in her retinue. 

Little Gibson was at the christening, and saw 
the small Anne decked out in great splendor; 
and although he was still rather young to think 
of matrimony, he fell in love with her then and 
there. His affection was returned, and in due 
course the king and queen gave their consent 
to the marriage of the two dwarfs. 

Great preparations were made for this wed- 
ding, which was celebrated in the chapel of the 
Palace of St. James; and everybody who was 
anybody at all was bidden to the ceremony. 
Henrietta Maria, who, in more senses than one, 
was the reigning beauty of the British court, 
took great interest in the festivities, and arrayed 
herself in all her splendor and loveliness to be- 
stow her blessing on the little pair. She or- 
dered Jeffrey Hudson to be best man, a task 
he was at first very unwilling to perform, for 
Jeffrey wished liimself to be the bright particu- 
lar star on all occasions, and he was very jea- 
lous of both Anne and Richard. The queen 


appeased his vanity by ordering for him a gor- 
geous new suit ; the waistcoat was rose-colored 
satin all .sparkling with gold lace, and his little 
breeches and stockings were of the same color. 

Thus attired, he went through his part of the 
ceremony with an air of courtly grace. 

The little bride looked charming in a white 
satin dress with a very long train, and tlie tin\- 
groom wore a white satin waistcoat with trim- 
mings of satin. His hose and breeches were of 
white silk, and diamond buckles sparkled in his 
tiny shoes. The dwarfs were a dainty pair, and 
created a sensation as they stood before the cler- 
gyman exchanging their vows. King Charles, 
very handsome, very graceful, and looking 
every inch a king, gave away the bride. 

The court poet. Sir Edmund Waller, wrote 
about the wedding a poem called " The ^L^r- 
riage of the Dwarfs." Part of it is as follows : 

Design, or chance, make others wive. 

But Nature did this match contrive ; 
Thrice Iiappy is that humble pair. 

Beneath the level of all care ! 
Over whose heads those arrows fly 

Of sad mistrust and jealousy ; 
Secured in as high extreme, 

As if the world held none but Iheni ! 

For a time all went well. The little couple 
dwelt together in harmony, and Richard went 
oil with his painting as industriously as e\er. 
He confined himself principally to portraits, but 
some of his landscapes and animal-pieces were 
much admired. One of them was the cause 
of a truly sorrowful event. The painting in 
question represented the parable of the " Lost 
Sheep," and was exceedingly well executed. 
Sheepfolds and shepherds were commcm on 
Gibson's native mountains, and it will be re- 
membered that, when a child, some of his ear- 
liest efforts had been attempts to draw pictures 
of the pretty little lambs. It was executed with 
so much spirit that Charles was delighted with 
it, said it was n masterpiece, and prized it 
so highh th:ii he gave it into the hands of 
Vandervort, the keeper of the royal pictures, 
with strict orders to take the greatest care of it. 

It happened that Vandervort was an absent- 
minded man, but he was so anxious to please 
the king that he carried out his instructions to 
the letter. lie placed the picture in a secure 

.S.,. 1 

iiisroRic i)\v.\kis. 

place, but wlicn, a shwrt liinc aflcrward, the 
king asked for it, the poor man could not re- 
member what he had done with it. Not daring 
to own this to his master, he worried about it 
for several days and in his perplexity did not 
know what to tlo. At last he gave up in de- 
spair, and rather than endure his Majesty's dis- 
jileasure, and not dating to say he had mislaid 
it, he committed suicide. The death of the 
keeper caused great sorrow at court, and a few 
days after the unhappy event the picture was 
found exactly where he had placed it. 

Gibson's talent as a limner was really extra- 
ordinary. His most admired [jortrait was one 
of Queen Henrietta, which was in the collec- 
tion of James I., and is now at Hampton 
Court. 'l"he artist, although a dwarf, seems to 
have shown much more discretion than many 
jK'ople twice his size, for he never meddled 
with politics or state aftairs. During all the 
troubles between Parliament and King he 
busied himself with his art trying to support 
his large family ; and when the queen had fled 
to France and Charles was dead Richard found 
a much better staff in his pencil than his most 
unfortunate patron had found in his scepter. 

At heart little Gibson was a Royalist, and 
he was greatly grieved when his kind benefac- 
tor died ; but he ke[)t his small tongue quiet, 
and was taken under the protection of the Earl 
of Pembroke, and afterward painted the picture 
of Oliver Cromwell more than once. In the 
mean time, Sir Peter Lely had painted two por- 
traits of the dwarf Gibsons ; one was ordered 
liy my lord Pembroke, and the other by a no- 
bleman of the opjjosite party ; so it is very evi- 
dent that the dwarf artist was favored lK)th liy 
the Royalists and the Roundheads. 

By the time Charles II. was ready to ascend 
the throne, Richard Gibson was about fifty- 
five years old, and was the father of .several 
children. The " Merry Monarch " considered 
himself a patron of art, and soon his father's 
portrait-painter was again established at court, 
and after a time was appointed drawing-mas- 
ter to the king's nieces, Princesses Mary and 
Anne, who each in turn became Queen of 
England. These two young ladies were not 
very proficient in most of their studies, but it 


is said they iiilicritcd from the house of Stuart 
a taste for the fine arts. Although they at 
first were inclined to ridicule the diminutive 
size of their drawing-master, they soon learned 
to respect him and his ability. Indeed, the 
Princess Mary became so much attached to 
the little pair that after she married William, 
Prince of Orange, Richard was sent over to 
Holland, that .she might go on with her paint- 
ing under his direction. 

Calmly and peacefully the tiny couple i)ur- 
sued the even tenor of their way, the father 
making sufficient money to support his family, 
and the small wife being happy in attending to 
her domestic duties. They both lived to a good 
old age, and one writer in speaking of them 
says that nature recompensed them for short- 
ness of stature by giving them length of years. 

They had nine children, five of whom lived 
and attained the usual stature of mankind. 
Two of their children became portrait-painters, 
like their father, and one of the daughters, 
named Susan, became an artist of note. She 
painted chiefly in water-colors, and with great 
freedom. She afterward became the wife of 
a jeweler named Rose. Mr. Rose was very 
proud of being the possessor of a picture of the 
dwarf artist painted on the same canvas with 
his master, Ue Cleyn. Polh were dressed in 
green habits as archers and held bows .-ind 
arrows. Little Gibson's bow was carefully pre- 
served and guarded by his daughter. 

Both Richard and his wife were painted sev- 
eral times, by Vandyck, by Dobson, and by 
Lely. The dwarf artist was really a most su- 
perior man, and he lived through many vicis- 
situdes. He was born during the reign of 
James I., saw the glories and troubles of 
Charles I., Cromwell, Charles II., and James 
II., withstood the horrors of the Great Plague 
and the terrors of the London Fire, and passed 
away early in the reign of William and Mary. 
He died July 23, 1690, in the seventy-fifth 
)ear of his age, and was buried at Covent 
Garden. His little widow survived him nearly 
twenty years. She died in 1709 in the nine- 
tieth year of her age. The old chroniclers 
speak of the Gibsons with a respect which not 
all royal favorites have commanded. 


By Mary Hallock Foote. 

IT was the hour for fireside " The chimneys were three stories high, and 

talks in the canon : too early, the swallows built near the top, I suppose, 

as dusk falls on a short They had the sky and the stars for a ceiling to 

December day, for lamps their litde dark bedrooms. In spring there was 

to be lighted; too late to never more than a blaze of sticks on the hearth 

snatch a page or two more — not that unless we had visitors to stay. Some- 

of the last magazine, by times a young swallow trying to fly fell out of 

the low gleam that peered the nest and fluttered across the hearth into the 

n the western windows. room. That was very exciting to us children. 

Jack had done his part in the But at house-cleaning time a great bag of straw 

evening's wood-carrying, and now was stuffed up the chimney's throat to save the 

was enjoying the fruits of honest toil, watching hearth from falling soot and dried mud, and 

the gay, red flames that becked and bowed the litter from the nests. It was a brick hearth 

up the lava-rock chimney. The low-ceiled painted red, and washed always with milk to 

room, with its rows of books, its guns and make it shine. The andirons were such as you 

pipes, and idols in Zuiii pottery, darkled in will see in the garret of any good old house in 

corners and glowed in spots, and all the faces the East — fluted brass columns with brass cones 

round the hearth were lit as by footlights, in on top. 

various attitudes of thoughtfulness. "It was in summer, when the bird colony was 

" Now, what is that? " cried Jack's mama, livehest, that we used to hear the beating of 

putting down the fan screen she held, and wings in the chimney — a smothered sound like 

turning her head to listen. the throbbing of a steamer's wheels far off' in a 

It was only the wind booming over the fog, or behind a neck of land." 

housetop, but it had found a new plaything ; Jack asked more questions ; the men seemed 

it was strumming with a free hand and mighty not inclined to talk ; and the mother fell to 

on the long, taut wires that guyed the wash- remembering aloud, speaking sometimes to 

shed stovepipe. The wash-shed was a post- Jack, but often to the others. All the simple 

cript in boards and shingles hastily added to features of her old, Eastern home had gained 

the main dwelling after the latter's completion, a priceless value, as things of a past gone out 

It had no chimney, only four feet of pipe pro- of her hfe, which she had scarcely prized at the 

jecting from the roof; an item which would time. She was half jealous of her children's 

have added to the insurance, had there been attachment to the West, and longed to make 

any insurance. The risk of fire was taken along them know the place of the family's nativity 

with the other risks ; but the family was vigilant, through such pictures of it as her memory could 

Mrs. Gilmour listened till she sighed again, supply. 

The wind, she said, reminded her of a sound 
she had not thought of for years — the whirring 
of swallow's wings in the spare bedroom chim- 
ney at home. 

" Swallows in the chimney ? " cried Jack, sud- 

But her words meant more to herself than to 
any that listened. 

" Did we ever sleep in that bedroom with 
the chimney-swallows ? " asked Jack. He was 
thinking : what a mistake to stop up the chim- 

denly attentive. " How could they build fires ney and cut off communication with such jolly 
then, without roasting the birds ? " neighbors as the swallows ! 




Yes, his mother said ; he had slept there, but and beyond them were the solemn blue hills, 

before he could remember. It was the winter Those hills, and the cedars, were as much a 

he was three years old, when his father was at part of a winter's sunrise on the Hudson as the 

Deadwood. sun himself. 

There used to be such beautiful ice-iiictures Jack used to lie in bt-ii .ind lislm fnr tlic tr.iin. 


on the eastern windowjianes ; and when the sun a signal his mother did not care to hear, for 
rose and the fire was lit and the ])ictures faded, it meant she must get up and set a match to 
a group of little bronze-black cedars appeared, the fire, laid overnight in the big-bellied air- 
half a mile away, topping the ridge by the river, tight stove that panted and roared on its four 
Vol. XIX.— 42. 



short legs, slnuldcriiii; in a transport of sudilcn 

When the air of the room grew milder, Jack 
would hop out in his wrapper anil slijjpers, and 
run to the north window to see what new shapes 
the fountain had taken in the night. 

The jet of water did not freeze, but the spray 
of it froze and piled above the urn, changing 
as the wind veered, and as the sun wasted 
it. On .some mornings it looked like a weep- 
ing white lady in a crystal veil ; sometimes a 
Niobe group, children clinging to a white, sad 
mother who clasped them and bowed her head. 
When the sun peeped through the fir-trees, it 
touched the fountain statuary with sea-tints of 
emerald and pearl. 

Had Jack been old enough to know the story 
of Undine, he might have flincied that he saw 
her on those winter mornings, and I am sure 
he would have wanted to fetch her in and warm 
her and dry her icy tears. 

The spare-room mantelpiece was high; Jack 
could see only the tops of things upon it, even 
by walking far back into the room; but of a 
morning, mounted on the pillows of the great 
four-poster, he could explore the mantel's trea- 
sures, which never varied nor changed places. 
There was the whole length and pattern of the 
tall silver-plated candlesticks, and the snuffers 
in their tray ; the Indian box of birch-bark over- 
laid with porcupine quills, which held concealed 
riches of shells and coral and dark sea-beans; 
there was the center vase of Derbyshire spar, 
two dolphins wreathing their tails to support a 
bacchante's bowl crowned with grape-leaves. 
In winter this vase held an arrangement of dried 
immortelles, yellow and pink and crimson, and 
some that verged upon magenta and should 
have been cast out as an offense to the whole ; 
but grandmother had for flowers a ciiarity which 
embraced every sin of color they were capa- 
ble of. When her daughters grew up and put 
on airs of superior taste, they protested against 
these stiff mementos ; but she was mildly in- 
flexible; she continued to. gather and to dry her 
" everlastings," with faithful recognition of their 
prickly virtues. She was not one to slight old 
friends for a trifling mistake in color, though 
Art should put forth her edict and call them 

In tiie northeast corner of the room stood 
a great invalid chair, dressed, hke a woman, in 
wiiite dimity that came down to the floor all 
round. The jtlump feather cushion had an 
apron, as little Jack called it, which fell in neat 
gathers in front. The high stuffed sides pro- 
jected, forming comfortable corners where a 
languid head might rest. 

Here the pale young mothers of the f;imily 
"sat up" for the first time to have their hair 
done, or to receive the visits of friends ; here, in 
last illnesses, a wan face, sinking back, showed 
the truth of the doctor's verdict. 

White dimity, alternating with a dark-red 
reps in winter, covered the seats of the fiddle- 
backed mahogany chairs. White marseilles or 
dimity covers were on the wash-stand, and the 
tall bureau had a swinging glass that rocked 
back against the wall and showed little Jack 
himself walking into a picture of the back 
part of the room — a small chap in kilts, with 
a face somewhat out of drawing, and of a bluish 
color; the floor, too, had a queer slant like the 
deck of a rolling vessel. But with all its faults, 
this presentation of himself in the glass was an 
appearance much sought after by Jack, even to 
the climbing on chairs to attain it. 

When grandmother came to her home as a 
bride, the four-poster Avas in its full panoply of 
high pufted feather-bed, valance and canopy and 
curtains of white dimity, " English " blankets, 
quilted silk comforter, and counterpane of heavy 
marseilles, in a bygone pattern. No pillow- 
shams were seen in the house; its fashions 
never changed. The best pillow-cases were 
plain linen, hemstitched, — smooth as satin with 
much use, as Jack's mother remembered them, 
— and the slender initials, in an old-fashioned 
hand, above the hem, had fiided sympatheti- 
cally to a pale yellow-brown. 

Some of the house linen had come down from 
great-grandmother's trousseau, and it bore her 
maiden initials, E. B., in letters that were like 
the marking on old silver of that time. The 
gracious old Quaker names, sacred to the mem- 
ory of gentle women and good housewives 
whose virtues would read like the last chapter 
of Proverbs, the words of King Lemuel, the 
prophecy which his mother taught him. 

It was onlv after the daughters of the house 

II11-: SPAKK l!i:i)K<)(iM AT IIRANDI' A 1 1 1 1 R 

grew u|) and were married, and came home on 
visits with their cliildren, that the spare bed- 
room lell into common use, and new fashions 
intruded as the old things wore out. 

When Jack's mother was a child, it still kept 
Its solemn and festal character of birth and 
marriage and death chamber; and in times less 
vital it was set ajjart for such guests as the 
family delighted to honor. Little girls were not 
allowed to stray in there by themselves ; even 
when sent to the room on errands, they went 
and came with a certain awe of the empty 
room's cold dignity. 

But at the semiannual house-cleaning, when 
every closet and bureau-drawer resigned itself 
to the season's intrusive spirit of research, the 
spare room's kindly mysteries were given to the 
light. The children could look on and touch 
and handle and ask questions; and thus began 
their acquaintance with such rehcs as had not 
been consigned to the darker oblivion of the 
garret, or suffered change through the family 
passion for " making over." 

In the bottom drawer of the bureau was the 
'• body " of grandmother's wedding-gown. The 
narrow skirt had served for something useful, — 
a cradle-quilt perhaps for one of the babies. 
Jack could have put the tiny dress-waist into 
one of his trousers' pockets, with less than their 
customary distention. It was a mere scrap of 
dove-colored silk, low neck, and laced in the 
back. (Grandmother must have worn over her 
shoulders one of the embroidered India muslin 
capes that w-ere turning yellow in that same 

The dress-sleeves were "leg o' mutton"; but 
these, too, had been sacrificed in some impulse 
of mistaken economy. 

There was the high shell comb, not carved, 
but a solid piece of shell which the children 
used to hold up to the light to see the colors 
glow like a church window. There were the 
little square-toed satin slippers, heelless, with 
flat laces that crossed over the instep; and 
there were the flesh-colored silk stockings and 
the white embroidered wedding-shawl. 

Little grandmother must have been rather a 
" gay " Friend ; she never wore the dress as did 
her mother, who put on the " i)lain distinguish- 
ing cap" before she was forty. She dressed as 


one of the "world's i)ei)plc," but always plainly, 
with a little distance between herself and the 
latest fashion. She had a conscientious scorn 
of poor materials. Ordinary self-respect would 
have prevented her wearing an edge of lace 
that was not "real," or a stuft" that was not .ill 
wool, if wool it professed to be, or a i^rini that 
would not "wash"; and her contempt for linen 
that was part cotton, for silk that was part linen, 
or velvet with a " cotton back," was of a piece 
with her truthfulness and horror of pretense. 

Among the frivolities in the lower drawer 
was a very dainty little night-cap, embroidered 
mull or some such frailness ; the children used 
to tie it on over their short hair, framing the 
round cheeks of ten and twelve year olds. It 
was the envelop for sundry odd pieces of lace, 
" old English thread," and yellow Valenciennes, 
ripped from the necks and sleeves of little frocks 
long outgrown. 

The children learned these patterns by heart, 
also the scrolls and garlands on certain broad 
collars and cuffs of needlework, w^hich always 
looked as if something might be made of them ; 
but nothing was, although Jack's mama was con- 
scious of a long felt want in doll's petticoats, 
which those collars would have filled to ecstasy. 

In that lower drawer were a few things be- 
longing to grandmother's mother, E. B., of 
gracious memory. There were her gauze neck- 
handkerchiefs, and her long-armed silk mitt.s, 
which reported her a " finer woman " than any 
of her descendants of the third generation ; 
since not a girl of them all could show an arm 
that would fill out these cast coverings hand- 
somely from wrist to biceps. 

And there was a bundle of her silk house- 
shawls, done u]) in one of the E. B. towels : 
lovely in color and texture as the fair, full grand- 
motherly throat they once encircled. They 
were plain, self-fringed, of every shade of white 
that was not white. 

There they lay and no one used them ; and 
after a while it began to seem a pity to the little 
girls who had grow'n to be big girls ; the light- 
est-minded of them began to covet those .sober 
vanities for their own adornment. Mother's 
scruples were easily smiled away ; so the old 
Quaker shawls came forth and took their part 
in the young life of the — a gayer part, it 



would be safe to say, than was ever tlieirs upon 
the blessed shoulders of E. B. One or two of 
them were made into plaited waists to be worn 
with skirts and belts of the world's fashion. 
And one soft cream-white shawl wrapped little 
Jack on his first journey in this world ; and after- 
ward on many journeys, much longer than that 
first one, " from the blue room to the brown." 

No advertised perfumes were used in grand- 
mother's house, yet the things in the drawers 
had a faint sweet breath of their own; espe- 
cially it lingered about those belongings of her 
mother's time — the odor of seclusion, of by- 
gone cleanliness and household purity. 

The spare bedroom was at its gayest in 
summer-time, when, after the daughters of the 
house grew up, young company was expected. 
Swept and dusted and soberly expectant it 
waited, like a wise virgin, but with candles 

unlighted and shutters darkened. Its very 
colors were cool and decorous, white and 
green and dark mahogany polish, door-knobs 
and candlesticks gleaming, andirons reflected 
in the dull-red shine of the hearth. 

After sundown, if friends were expected by 
the evening boat, the shutters were fastened 
back, and the green Venetian blinds raised, to 
admit the breeze and a view of the garden and 
the grass and the plashing fountain. Each 
girl hostess visited the room in turn on a last, 
characteristic errand : one with her hands full 
of roses, new blown that morning ; another to 
remove the sacrificed leaves and broken stems 
the rose-gatherer had forgotten ; and the mother 
last of all to look about her with modest pride, 
peopling the room with the friends of her own 
girlhood, to be welcomed there no more. 

Then, when the wagon drove up, what a 
joyous racket in the hall ; and what content 
for the future in the sound of heavy trunks 
carried upstairs ! 

If only one girl guest had come, she must 
have her particular friend of the house for a 
bedfellow ; and what in all the world did they 
not talk of, lying awake half the summer night 
in pure extravagance of joy — while the foun- 
tain plashed and paused, and the soft wind 
stirred in the cherry-trees, and in the moonlit 
garden overblown roses dropped their petals 
on the wet box-borders. 

Visitors from the city brought with them — 
besides new books and new songs and sumptu- 
ous confectionery, and the latest ideas in dress — 
an odor of the world, something complex and 
rich and strange as the life of the city itself 
It spread its .spell upon the cool, pure atmo- 
sphere of the Quaker home, and set the light 
hearts beating and the young heads dreaming. 

In after years came the Far West, with its mas- 
culine incense of camps and tobacco and In- 
dian leather and soft-coal smoke. It arrived, in 
company with several pieces of singularly dusty 
male baggage, but it had not come to stay. 

For a few days of confusion and hustle it 
pervaded the house, and then departed on the 
" Long Trail," taking little Jack and his mother 
away. And in the chances and changes of the 
years that followed, they were never again to 
.sleep in the spare bedroom at grandfather's. 


By Kate Putnam Osgood. 

This is my birthday — I 'm 'most a man; 

Exactly eight. 
I 'm growing up, says my Uncle Van, 

At an awful rate. 
But I can't know everything quite clear — 

Not ^/iite, says he — 
Before my birthday comes round next year. 

In Ninety-Three. 

I 'm always thinking and wondering 

As hard as I can ; 
But there is n't much good in questioning 

My Uncle Van. 
For he only says, with a funny look, 

I shall probably see — 
If I keep on growing and mind my book — 

In Ninety-Three. 

What makes the moon grow thin and long It 's long ahead till a fellow 's nine, 

Like a paper boat ? When he 's only eight ! 

How did they get the canary's song But the days keep passing, rain or shine, 

In his little throat ? And I can wait. 
Why has n't the butterfly something to do ? For all these puzzles, that seem so queer 

Or why has the bee ? Just now to me. 

What will become of Ninety-Two I '11 understand by another year. 

In Ninety-Three ? In Ninety-Three. 


By Liicur. R. II. Flkkhkr. 

[n,-gitil ill the January 7nimbcr.\ 

Chapter XV. 

Thic next (lay Mildred felt tired and listless. 
After all the excitement of the preceding days 
siie took pleasure in the simple, peaceful routine 
of home. She had a late breakfast, and then went 
up to the attic. Shutting the door, she felt a 
sweet satisfaction in being alone in her old play- 
room. She took out all of her dolls. These 
were her only true friends and companions, she 
told herself; they never misjudged her or said 
unpleasant things of her. She had never been so 
happy as when plaj-ing with them, and she ought 
never to have abandoned them; she did not care 
if she was twelve years old, she would always 
love them ; and to prove it she decided to make 
them all new dresses for Christmas. With this 
purpose in view, Mildred opened the old cowhide 
trunk, and began to look over its contents for 
suitable scraps of silk. While she was thus en- 
gaged she heard a familiar footstep on the stairs. 
At the sound she frowned, and when there was a 
knock on the door and Leslie's voice called out, 
" Can I come in ? " Mildred did not answer for a 
moment, being tempted to let Leslie think she 
was not there. Then changing her mind, she 
threw all the scrai)s back into the trunk, and, 
shutting it, said, "Yes, come in." 

"Oh, Dreddy!" said Leslie, coming right up 
to Mildred and going straight at the subject 
that was on her mind, as was her way, " I hur- 
ried over, just as soon as I had my breakfast, 
to tell you that I 'm awfully sorry about what 
those girls said last night ; and it was n't true at 
all. Everybody knows that you spoke my part 
just because 1 got to laughing and could n't 
.say it; and they all thought it was just splendid 
of you to do it, and Carrie Wilkins had no busi- 
ness to say what she did, 'cause it was n't so ! 
And you did n't believe it, did you?" 

At that moment, as Leslie ])ause(l for breath 

and fixed her honest blue eyes anxiously on 
Mildred's, Mildred would have dearly liked to 
have been able to say, " No, I did n't believe 
it"; but, as it was, she made no answer and 
looked away. 

"Oh, you did believe it, did n't you?" sai<l 
Leslie, looking surprised and hurt. " Chariie 
said that you would, and I said that you would 
not. I would n't have believed it if she had 
said it of you. Is that what made you be- 
have so funny last night, when you were going 

"Well," said Mildred, driven into defending 
herself, "you certainly acted as if you were 
offended with me. I wanted to tell you how 
it all happened, and you kept away from me 
all the evening so that I could n't. Don't you 
know that you did?" 

"Well," admitted Leslie, "I was a little bit 
mad at first, but that was because Charlie was 
so cross with me. I forgot all about it after- 
ward. And as for my saying that you spoke 
my part just to make people look at you, 
you know I never said that at all, and I never 
thought it, and Carrie Wilkins had no business 
to say so. She was just mad 'cause she was 
not asked to take part in the play. And I 'm 
going to tell her what I think of it, too, just 
as soon as ever I see her ! " 

" Oh, well," said Mildred, " as long as T know 
now that you did n't say it, it 's all right. It 's 
not worth making any more fuss about." 

" I 'm going to tell her, just the same," .said 
I^eslie, decidedly. " I don't like any one to art 
like that. Charlie was awfully mad wlien lie 
heard about it." 

"How did he know?" said Mildred. 

"Why," said Leslie, "he came \\\i just hn jou 
were talking to the girls, and he said that you 
looked so queer, he knew something must have 
happened. So after supper he danced with 
Mabel, who was with tluin, tlu)Ui;;]i she did n't 


say anything mean, and Charlie got her to tell 
him all about it. And then he told ma and 
me, and ma was awfully put out about it, and 
I said I would come right over and tell you the 
first thing in the morning. So it 's all right 
now, is n't it?" 

"Yes," said Mildred, ''it 's all right now." 

'• Did you have a good time?" said Leslie. 

"Yes, indeed I did," replied Mildred; "it was 
a lovely party." 

And then they began talking over all that 
had happened, with a great deal of interest. 
While they were in the middle of their conver- 
sation another step was heard on the stairs, 
and Leslie, stopping to listen, exclaimed, " Well, 
if there is n't Charlie coming up, too!" Sure 
enough, there was a rap on the door, and Mas- 
ter Charlie, putting his head in, said, "Anybody 
at home?" He, too, had come to explain and 
apologize for Miss Wilkins's remark, but, seeing 
that Mildred was already quite pacified, he soon 
dropped the subject and joined in the discus- 
sion of the play. Going over the triumphs and 
laughing at the blunders of the night before, the 
time pa.ssed quickly, and the luncheon hour had 
arrived before Leslie and Charlie took their de- 
parture; and so the dolls once more had to go 
without new dresses. 

When Mildred accompanied her friends down 
to the front door all ill feeling had disappeared, 
and she was ready to agree with Charlie that the 
play had been a great success. Leslie allowed 
Charlie to go ahead of her as they started down 
the street, and then, turning back, she whispered 
to Mildred, " Do you remember that secret 
Charlie had about you, a long time ago?" 

" Yes," said Mildred, with great interest. 

"Well," said Leslie, "you will know what it 
is Christmas morning. 'S-sh!" she exclaimed, 
as Charlie called her; "don't tell him that I told 
you." And so, running off, she left Mildred 
meditating over what she had said. 

" Undoubtedly," thought Mildred, "this must 
mean that Charlie is going to give me a Christ- 
mas present." The knowledge made her glad, 
and .she wondered what it would be. And yet, 
at the same time, she rememberetl with sudden 
regret that she had not thought of giving either 
Charlie or Leslie a Christmas present. If they 
gave her something and she gave them nothing 


in return, that would be very awkward. And so 
she immediately went in search of her mother, 
whom she found in the kitchen helping Amanda 
make mince-meat and other Christmas dainties, 
and asked her advice on the subject. 

"Don't you think. Mama," said Mildred, 
"that I ought to give them something?" 

" Well, no," .said her mother ; " I do not. 
That is, I don't think you ought to make them 
a [iresent just because they are going to give 
you one. That is not the .sentiment of Christ- 
mas at all." 

" If you had thought of it in time it would 
have been a pretty attention to have made 
Leslie something. But it is too late now." 

"Could n't I buy her a present?" said 

" No," said her mother; " because that would 
not mean the same thing." 

" But, Mama," protested Mildred, " I want to 
do something. Don't you think I have time 
to make just some little thing ? " 

"No, dear," said her mother; "I really do 
not. Christmas is the day after to-morrow. 
This afternoon we are going shopping, and to- 
morrow we are going to help get the Christmas 
dinner ready at the Orphans' Home. The best 
suggestion I can make is for you to buy two 
pretty Christmas cards, one for Charlie and one 
for Leslie, and send them Christmas morning. 
That, without making any pretensions to l)eing 
a gift, will show that you did not forget them, 
which, after all, is what you want." 

Mildred was not altogether contented, with 
this decision, but, seeing no way to remedy it, 
she made the best of the matter. When she went 
with her mother that afternoon to buy Amanda's 
head-kerchief and Eliza's purse, she made a 
selection of two pretty Christmas cards, and 
when she found that they cost almost as much 
as she had expected to pay for a " regular 
present," she was much better satisfied; for 
whidi her mother good-naturedly laughed at 

Ch.apfkr XVI. 

Christmas morning dawned very gently and 
very slowly on Washington city, because it came 
in a snow-storm — a good old-fashioned snow- 
storm everybody said, as they looked out of 



their windows and saw the ledges softly rounded 
up with two or three inches of snow, and the 
roofs of the houses and the streets all smoothly 
white. When Mildred looked out of her win- 
dow, she danced up and down with delight ; and 
indeed the snow did make a beautiful sight. 
There were the old familiar trees in the garden, 


was in this fashion that Mildred received her 
home presents. They were brought into her 
room mysteriously in the night when she was 
asleep, and when she awoke in the morning 
there they were to greet her opening eyes. Of 
course, since she had grown to be twelve years 
old, Santa Claus had taken Mildred's name 

looking quite strange, all covered with feathery 
white blossoms ; and on the top of the brick 
wall was a long white bolster, and on each spike 
of the iron railings a httle white hood, and over 
all the hush of the silently falling flakes. 

But there were other things for Mildred to 
look at beside the snow, this Christmas morn- 
ing. There was a stocking hanging from the 
mantel, all bulging out with knobs and sharp 
comers, and a chair by the side of her bed 
piled up with packages big and little. For it 

off his regular visiting-list, but nevertheless she 
could not give up the habit of hanging up her 
stocking Christmas eve, and she never failed to 
find it filled Christmas morning. 

And now, wrapped in a blanket, seated with 
her feet curied under her in a big chair before 
the red, snapping fire, Mildred, assisted by 
Eliza, began the delightful business of open- 
ing her bundles. There were books from her 
mother, a gold bead necklace from her father, 
a huge cake from Amanda, with "Mildred" 


written on the top in sugar, and a complete 
doll's wardrobe from Kliza, besides all the quaint 
and funny things in her stocking. 

In this pleasant occupation they were inter- 
rupted by the ringing of the first bell for break- 
fast, which brought Eliza to her feet with the 
exclamation, "The good lan's sake! Wat am I 
thinkin' 'bout, squand'rin' my time like this ! " 
-Vnd hurrj-ing away, she left Mildred to finish 
her toilet. 

When Mildred bounded into the breakfast- 
room a few minutes later, her arms filled with 
her treasures, she found her mother there alone. 

" Merry Christma,s, Mama ! " she cried, put- 
ting down her bundles and throwing her arms 
around her mother's neck. " Here 's a kiss for 
Christmas, and here are twenty for the books. 
Tliey 're just too lovely for anything ! " 

'• I *m glad that you like them, dear," said 
her mother, after returning her greeting. 

•' Indeed I do," said Mildred; "they are just 
w hat I wanted, and I 'm so much obliged to 
you. And here 's a little present that I made 
for you," continued Mildred, bringing forth the 
tidy. " I made it all myself." 

" Why, how nicely you have done it ! " said 
her mother. " It is very pretty, indeed." 

" There are some parts that are not so good 
as others," said Mildred, thinking about the work 
she had done on that unfortunate Saturday after- 
noon ; " but I could n't help that." 

" Well, I don't know," said her mother, look- 
ing at the ridy critically ; " it all seems to me 
very well done. In fact, I did not know that 
you could work so nicely. Thank you, sweet- 
heart, very much"; and she gave Mildred an- 
other kiss. 

Quite satisfied with the result of her labors, 
Mildred proceeded to show her mother her 
other presents. " Amanda made me a great big 
cake. Mama. And Eliza made me these doll's 
clothes. See here ! Are n't they nice ? They 
are made just like real persons' clothes, exacdy." 
•Vnd after her mother had admired these things, 
Mildred at last put her hand in her pocket and, 
drawing forth the bead necklace, exclaimed in 
great triumph, " But time, what do you think 
I 've got ? " And hiding it mysteriously be- 
tween the palms of her hands, she laid her 
cheek against them and looked at her mother 


with dancing eyes. " See that ! " she cried, sud- 
denly opening her hands. " Is n't it beautiful ? " 

" Are you very glad to have it ? " said her 
mother, smiling at her enthusiasm. 

" Oh, indeed I am," said Mildred ; " ever so 
glad, — you don't know ! But where is papa ? " 
she continued. " What makes him so late ? " 

" He does not feel very well this morning," 
replied her mother ; " and he is going to take 
breakfast in his room." 

" Oh ! " cried Mildred, her face lengthening 
with disappointment, " I 'm so sorry. I wanted 
to thank him, and I wanted to give him his 
present, too." 

" Well, never mind, dear," said her mother ; 
" you and I will breakfast together, and after 
that we will go and pay papa a visit." 

If Mildred's attention had not been taken up 
at that moment by the entrance of Amanda, 
she might have seen that her mother's cheer- 
fulness w-as altogether assumed and that she 
looked pale and careworn. The fact was, she 
had been sitting up for many weary hours 
with Major Fairleigh, who had been so sick in 
the middle of the night that Eliza had to be 
called up and sent for the doctor. But all 
this had been concealed from Mildred, her 
father himself having requested that her Christ- 
mas joy might not be spoiled. 

So, after Mildred had thanked .\manda for 
the cake and presented the head-kerchief, her 
mother called her attention to some more pack- 
ages that had arrived that morning. 

Two of the new packages were bo-\es that 
had come by express, and they had to be 
opened with a hatchet. One of them was 
from Mrs. Fairleigh's sister w-ho hved in Paris, 
and it contained presents for all of the family. 
To Mildred was sent a sealskin jacket and cap. 
This very handsome gift was quite enough to send 
Mildred dancing around the room again with 
joy, and altogether created quite a sensation. 
The other box was very rough-looking, and when 
opened proved to be full of big yellow oranges, 
This was a present from a cousin of Major Fair- 
leigh's, who owned a ranch in California. With 
the third package was a card upon which was 
written, " For Miss Mildred Fairleigh, with a 
Merry Christmas, from Chas. G. Morton." 
This, then, was Charlie's secret ! 


ClkLS AM) A l;()V. 


Mildred stood first on one foot, and tlien on 
the other, in her impatience as Eliza opened the 
bundle. " Why, it 's nothing but string ! " she 
exclaimed, as the wrappers were taken oft'. 

"What kind o' present 's that!" said Eliza, 

" Open it out," said Mrs. Fairleigh, herself 
somewhat puzzled. "Oh, I see," she added; 
" it is a hammock, and a very pretty one, 

" But what is it for, Mama ? " said Mildred. 

" Why, to he down in, dear," said her mother. 
" Don't you remember they had them under the 
trees at Sulphur Springs? " 

"Oh, yes, I remember," .said Mildred; "but 
where can I hang it — in my play-room ? " 

" Yes," said her mother, " that would be a 
very good place for it. And now let us have 

But although Amanda had cooked them a 
royal breakfast, neither Mildred nor her mother 
seemed very hungry. Mrs. Fairleigh made a 
pretense of eating, but Mildred was too much 
e.vcited over her presents for even that. They 
had almost finished, and Mildred was hurry- 
ing that she might go up-stairs to see her father, 
when the door-bell rang, and Mildred, clapping 
her hands, looked up and exclaimed, "Another 
present ! " But no ; Eliza went to the door, 
and in a few minutes returned, announcing the 

" Show him in here," said Mrs. Fairleigh. 

Dr. Strong was a surgeon in the army, and 
a very old friend of the family. He was stout 
and jolly, and came in from the snow-storm 
looking like a red apple. " Merry Christmas to 
you all I " he cried, as he entered the room rub- 
bing his hands. " Good morning, Mrs. Fair- 
leigh. This is fine wintry weather. Aha ! Miss 
Mildred, Santa Claus has been here, I see. I 
met him coming away, and he told me that he 
had forgotten to give you this. " And the doc- 
tor handed Mildred a good-sized parcel which 
proved to l)e a blue satin box filled with French 

" Won't you sit down and have some break- 
fast, Doctor?" said Mrs. Fairleii;h, after Mil- 
dred had thanked him. 

"No, no," he said; "don't mind me. I 've 
had my breakfast, an hour ago. 1 don't know. 

though ; I believe 1 will have a cup of that 
fainous coffee of Amanda's. Bless my soul ! " 
he continued, " what 's all this ? A hammock, 
and oranges! Why, that 's quite tropical." 

"Papa's cousin John sent me the oranges," 
said Mildred. " He has a big ranch away out 
in California." 

" Has he so ? " said the doctor, looking at 
Mildred in a thoughtful way. "Cousin John 
has a ranch in California, has he ? " And, sit- 
ting down, the doctor slowly stirred his coffee, 
looking into it in the same meditative way, and 
saying, " Humph ! A ranch in California ; yes. 
yes. Well," he added, finally looking up, " .uid 
how is the patient ? " 

Mrs. Fairleigh, catching the doctor's eye, 
glanced meaningly at Mildred, as she answered, 
" We hope he will do very well. Doctor." 

" Ah, yes, " replied the doctor, looking at 
Mildred; "exactly." 

" Can I go up now and see papa ? " said 

" So far as I am concerned, you may," said 
the doctor. 

" I think, perhaps, that you might go uji, 
dear," said her mother, " and tell papa diat the 
doctor is here. But don't stay too long." 

Taking a few of her presents with her to 
show her father, Mildred left the room. 

As soon as the door closed upon her the 
doctor said, " Well, how is he ? " 

" I think he feels a little more comfortable," 
said Mrs. Fairleigh. " But, oh, Doctor," she 
added, her eyes filling with tears, " I am so 
uneasy ! " 

" Of course, of course," replied the doctor ; 
" it is natural that you should be. At the same 
time I don't think that you have any cause for 
immediate apprehension. The fact of the mat- 
ter is, Washington at this time of the year is no 
place for the Major. He ought to be out on 
'Cousin John's' ranch in California, where he 
can stay out of doors all day long, anil take Hfe 
easy in a hammock under the orange-trees. I 
wish he were there now." 

"You really think that he ought to go away?" 
asked Mrs. Fairleigh, anxiously. 

"Yes, my dear friend, I do," said the dcxtor. 
"As I have told you before, T think some 
day a surgical operaticm ma\- relieve him of that 

rWO IHKI.S AM) A I'.dV. 

Gettysburg bullet, and bring about his recovery. 
Hut there is no use talking of that until he is 
strong enough to bear it. He is not gaining 
strength in this most trying climate of Wash- 
ington ; on the contrary, he is losing it, and to 
speak frankly I don't think that he can safely 
live here in his present condition." 

" If you think that. Doctor," said Mrs. Fair- 
leigh, gravely, "I shall try my best to induce 
him to go away." 

" I have no hesitation in saying, my dear 
madam, that in my opinion it is the best thing 
you can do. However, the first and most im- 
portant point is to get the Major on his feet 

At this moment Mildred returned. 

" Papa says to give you his compliments, 
Doctor," she said, " and he will be pleased to 
have you come up-stairs." 

" Oh, he will," said the doctor. " Tiis bkti. 
Ma' mselle ; I will go immediately." 

" Don't you think that papa will be able to 
come down to dinner. Mama ? " said Mildred, 
mournfully, after the doctor had left. " It won't 
seem like Christmas unless he does." 

■' Maybe he will, dear," said her mother. 
" These attacks don't last very long, you know. 
\Vould n't you like to go out and take a run in 
the snow ? Why not go and see Leslie, and 
then you can thank Charlie for the hammock." 

" Oh, yes, I would like to do that," said 
Mildred, brightening up. And a few moments 
later, in her new sealskin cap and coat, she was 
plowing her way through the snow. 

Mildred found Leslie and her brother in their 
yard making a snow fort. They set up a .shout 
when they saw her and called out, " Merry 
Christmas ! " At the same time Leslie let drive 
a snowball which came very close to Mildred's 
ear ; and then she ran out and hugged her. 

" Why, Dreddy ! " she cried. " How cute you 
look! Is that a Christmas present ? Sealskin is 
awfully becoming to you ; is n't it, Charlie ? " 

Charlie agreed. For Mildred's black curly 
hair mingling with the fur of the cap, and her 
black eyes, and red cheeks, and white teeth 
appearing just above the dark fur of the coat 
ilid make a pretty contrast. 

" Cf)me in and see all the things I 've got," 
said Leslie, putting her arm around her. Then 


she whis|icred, " Did you get Charlie's pres- 
ent? He made it himself." And then she 
giggled and looked around at Charlie. 

ISut he happened to be close behind her 
and overheard what was said. " Aha ! " he 
exclaimed, " I heard you talking about me. 
Miss I " And scooping up a little snow he 
threw it over her. 

•' Oo-00-ooh ! " exclaimed Leslie, squirming 
around, half laughing, half scolding. " You 
mean, hateful thing ! " And then having brushed 
off the snow as well as she could, she sud- 
denly stooped and made a snow-ball which 
she threw at Charlie with all her might. I'.ut 
Charlie ducked his head in time to avoid it, 
and picking up a handful of snow himself, he 
made a great show of welding it together very 
hard for Leslie's benefit; at which Leslie tied 
into the house. 

Mildred and Charlie followed, laughing. 
But Leslie had her revenge, for she had let 
down the latch of the front door so that 
Charlie had to ring the bell and wait for the 
servant to let him in, while Leslie stood at the 
parlor window making fun of him. Mildred 
took advantage of this opportunity to thank 
Charlie for the hammock. 

" Did you like it ? " he said. 

" Yes, indeed," said Mildred.' " And I was 
so surprised. I never had a hammock before, 
and this is such a pretty one. Did you really 
make it yourself? " 

"Yes," said Charlie, "I made it; but it has 
been so long since I made one that I 'm afraid 
this is n't first-class." 

"I 'm sure it is," said Mildred, enthusiasti- 
cally. " It 's beautifully made. I don't see 
how you could do it at all. I thought Leslie 
was just in fun when she said that you made it." 

"A Mexican packer taught me how," said 
Charhe. "They make mu( h ]ircttier ones out 
of colored grass." 

" I think it was very nice of you to do so 
much for me," said Miklred, heartily. 

"Oh, it 's nothing!" said Charlie, blushing 
and stamping the snow off his feet. 

.\t this moment Leslie con.sented to open the 
door, and carried Mildred off to show her die 

llul Mildred did not stay long. She felt anx- 




ious and restless on account of her father's ill- holly-berries out of the hall and out of my room 

ness. For although it was not at all unusual and put them in there, shall I ? " 
for her father to be unwell enough to have to " If you like, dear," said her mother. " I 

take breakfast in his own room, somehow or think it would be very nice to make the dining- 

other it seemed to sadden Mildred more on room look as pretty as possible for papa." 


this Christmas morning. And so, despite Les- 
lie's protests, she soon ran back through the 
snow to her own house. And as she entered 
her mother's sitting-room, with its cheerful fire 
and dear, familiar objects, she felt that home 
was the only place to spend Christmas in, after 

Her mother came in as she stood warming 
her feet, and Mildred instantly saw that there 
was a happier expression on her face. 

" Is papa better ? " she asked. 

" Yes, dear, much better," said her mother. 
" He is sitting up now, and he thinks that per- 
haps he will be able to come down-stairs for a 
little while this evening, so that we may all have 
our Chri.stmas dinner together." 

" I 'm so glad ! " cried Mildred, with a little 
jamp. "That will be splendid! And I tell 
you. Mama, the dining-room is n't decorated 
half enough. I '11 get some of the greens and 

And that evening the dining-room did look 
as pretty as possible. The firelight and candle- 
light flickered upon the burnished silver and 
glassware set out on the massive mahogany 
sideboard, and upon the pretty table-service ; 
while Mildred's evergreens and red berries, 
wreathed around the chandelier and picture- 
frames, and around the brass frame of the an- 
tique mantel mirror, with its brass sconces each 
side full of tall wax candles, gave the room a 
jolly Christmas air that would have made any 
one's heart glad. 

Mrs. Fairleigh, dressed in a plain black velvet 
gown that had been made for her a great many 
years ago, and yet that looked all the prettier 
for being old-fashioned, with a sprig of mistle- 
toe and red berries at her throat, assisted her 
husband to his easy-chair at the head of the 
table. In this affectionate ceremony she was 
helped by Mildred. Then Eliza, arrayed in a 

'89=] TWO GIRLS AND A BOY. 669 

new dress, the gift of Mrs. Fairleigh, served the wishing them all prosperity, he drank their very 

soup and the fish and at last the turkey, a big, good health. 

fat bird, of a rich brown crispiness, the sight Amanda responded to this as she had al- 

of which caused Mildred to laugh aloud. But, ways done ever .since Mildred could remem- 

after all, this was as nothing compared to the ber, and in pretty much the same words. She 

effect produced by the arrival of the plum-pud- first took off her big silver spectacles and wiped 

ding. For this luscious globe was borne in, all them, and then, putting them on again, said : 

aflame with brandy-sauce, by no less a person " Marse Will, I 'se sarved de Dwights an' de 

than Amanda herself. Amanda was dressed in Fairleighs nigh on to fifty year. I held Miss 

a new gown also, with Mildred's head-kerchief Mary dere in my arms when she war a baby, 

turbaned around her grizzled hair, and a white an' I raised her till she done got married to 

cambric kerchief crossed upon her breast, pinned you, Marse Will; an' den I come 'long wid her 

with a gold pin, the gift of Major Fairleigh. an' holped to raise Miss Milly dere. An' I 

When she set the plum-pudding on the table, doan' ax fer no mo' prosperity dan w'at comes to 

and stood back, there may have been prouder me along wid de fambly nat'rally, a-sarvin' you 

women than .A.manda in Washington that night, an" youm." Here Amanda, for the first time 

but it is doubtful. in Mildred's experience, hesitated a little and 

Then, according to an old custom in the fam- then proceeded in a lower voice, " I doan' ax 

ily. Major Fairleigh poured a glass of wine for fer no mo' prosperity dan to see you git well an' 

each of the servants, and in a Httle speech strong ag'in, Marse Will. So yere 's you' very 

thanked them for their faithful labor and de- good healt', an' Miss Mary's, an' Miss Milly's, 

votion to his family during the past year, and, an' may de good Lord bress you all ! Amen ! " 

( To be conthtued. ) 


By Charles H. Lugrin. 

I 'm tired of waiting for " some day." 
Oh, when will it ever be here ? 

I 'm sure I have waited and waited 
A good deal more than a year. 

Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, 

.And all the rest of the week, 
Keep coming, and coming, and coming; 

But at " some day " I don't get a peek. 

I 've looked all the almanac over, 

And showed every page to my doll ; 
•And we 're sure (how I hope we 're mistaken 1 
" Some day " is not in it at all. 

The things I 'm to have on " some day " 
I could n't half tell in an age : 

.A tricycle, pony, a parrot, 
A birdie that sings in a cage. 

A cute little smutty-nosed pug-dog, 

The prettiest tortoise-shell cat ; 
And papa says, maybe, the measles — 

I 'm sure I don't care about that. 

And mama is going to take me 
To see lots of beautiful things ; 

And big brother Jack and Kitty 
Will give me two lovely gold rings. 

And " some day " I '11 find out the reason 

Of things I can't now understand ; 

And " some day " I '11 have a big dolly 

That can walk and hold on by my hand. 

Oh. I 'm tired of waiting for "some day "- 
It makes me just cross. I declare. 

I 'm afraid, when it really does get here, 
I '11 lie a big girl and won't care. 

I'EW months ago I took 
a journey by sea. When 
the steamer had passed quite out of sight of 
land, a gentleman from Ohio remarked in ratlier 
a nervous way : 

" It seems to me as if I had left the whole 
world behind me." 

" How," I asked, " would you feel if no one 
had ever crossed the Atlantic before ? " 

He laughingly replied, "In that event, noth- 
ing could make me go on this voyage." 

When he had gone, I fell to thinking of the 
indomitable courage of the great Columbus, 
who first sailed over the sea from Europe to 
America, and of the honor all Americans ought 
to render to his memory. Surely he must have 
had visions of very beautiful lands to encourage 
him, or, so great were the difficulties he had to 
encounter, he would have given up in despair. 

The one idea of his life, which has rendered 
him the greatest discoverer in the annals of 
history, was that the Indies could be reached 
by saihng west from Europe. He was poor, 
and needed money to test the truth of his 
theory. He first had high hopes that his own 
countrymen, the Genoese, would aid him ; but 
they took no interest in his scheme. He next 

applied to the Portuguese, sustained by the 
belief that these pioneers in discovery would 
give him a favorable hearing. Again he was 
disappointed ; and he now turned to Spain, 
arriving there in the year 1485. He met with 
some encouragement from the Spanish sover- 
eigns ; and he spent five years in solicitation 
at their court, hoping all the time they would 
agree to reUeve him of the financial difficulties 
that barred his way. But Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella were busy with their wars ; and finally, in 
1490, they indefinitely postponed the matter. 
After this, there is evidence that Columbus laid 
his plans before several Spanish noblemen, but 
with no better success. 

He now decided to ask aid from the King of 
France, and he prepared to go to that country ; 
but, at the advice of Friar Juan Perez, one of 
his most faithful friends, he resolved once more 
to try the court of Spain. Juan Perez, who 
had acted as Queen Isabella's confessor, wrote 
to her indorsing the great navigator's idea. 

Columbus reached the Queen to make his last 
appeal at a time when of all ethers he might 
hope to find her in a gracious mood. It was 
in 1492, just after the Spaniards had captured 
("■ranada from the Moors, and had planted their 

riii; \n\.\{;\-. ok coi.umiujs. 


l);mnLTs u]ioii tlic red toners of its renowned 
fortress, the Alhanibra. 'I'lie noble Isabella had 
all the time been really interested in Culiniibiis's 
plan; and she now consented to help him. 

But even after he had been fitted out for his 
voyage under her patronage, his troubles were 
by no means at an end. 'J'he three ships that 
were furnished him, called the " Santa Maria," 
the •' I'inta," and the " Nina," were small, light 
craft, but poorly suited for a long and perilous 
journey. The sailors who manned them had 
been obtained with much difficulty. With few 
exceptions, they had little appreciation of the 
greatness of the enterprise. 

When the expedition set sail from Palos, on 
the 3d of August, 1492, not a single spectator 
gave it a hearty " God-speed " ; but, on all sides, 
the gloomiest predictions were made as to the 
fate of the men who were going to venture out 
upon the Sea of Darkness, which was supposed 
to surround the known world. The minds of the 
sailors could not but be affected by the lack of 
faith in the enterprise they had seen stamped 
upon the faces of their friends; and so they 
were ready to magnify real dangers, and to let 
their minds run wild over imaginary ones. 
Christopher Columbus alone had to quiet their 
fears, answer their objections, and breathe into 
them some of his own courage ; and this, too, 
when he himself sorely needed support. 

The route from Palos to the Canary Isles 
was not an unknown one ; and this much of 
the distance was easily pas.sed over. Here Co- 
lumbus stopped till the 6th of September to 
repair the Pinta, whose rudder had been lost. 
Upon one of these islands is situated Mount 
Teneriffe, which was found to be in full erup- 
tion. As the sailors saw this, they shuddered 
and said : " This is an evil omen, and betokens 
a disastrous end to our voyage." But Colum- 
bus quieted their superstitions. He explained 
the nature of volcanoes, and called to their minds 
Mount Etna, with which they were familiar. 

But when they looked back over the course 
they had taken, and saw the last of the Canary 
Isles grow dim in the distant offing and then 
fade out of sight, tears trickled dow-n their 
bronzed faces, as the thought came to them 
that their ships were now, indeed, plowing 
through trackless seas. But they took heart 

again as Columbus told them of the riches and 
magnificence of India, which he assured ihciu 
lay directly to the west. 

So the voyage jirogressed without further 
incident worthy of remark till the 13th of Sep- 
tember, when the magnetic needle, which was 
then believed always to ])oint to the pole-star, 
stood some five degrees to the northwest. At 
this the pilots lost courage. " How," they 
thought, " was navigation possible in seas where 
the compass, that unerring guide, had lost its 
virtue ? " When they carried the matter to Co- 
lumbus, he at once gave them an explanation 
which, though not the correct one, was yet very 
ingenious, and shows the philosophic turn of his 
mind. The needle, he said, pointed not to the 
North Star, but to a fixed place in the heavens. 
The North Star had a motion around the pole, 
and in following its course had moved from the 
point to which the needle was always directed. 

Hardly had the alarm caused by the varia- 
tion of the needle passed away, when two days 
later, after nightfall, the darkness that hung 
over the water was lighted up by a great me- 
teor, which shot down from the sky into the 
sea. Signs in the heavens have always been a 
source of terror to the uneducated ; and this 
" flame of fire," as Columbus called it, rendered 
his men uneasy and apprehensive. Their vague 
fears were much increased when, on the i6th 
of September, they reached the Sargasso Sea, in 
which floating weeds were so densely matted 
that they imjjeded the progress of the ships. 
Whispered tales now passed from one sailor 
to another of legends they had heard of seas 
full of shoals and treacherous quicksands u])on 
which ships had been found stranded with their 
sails flapjjing idly in the wind, and manned by 
skeleton crews. Columbus ever cheerful and 
even-tempered, answered these idle tales by 
sounding the ocean and showing that no bottom 
could be reached. 

As the ships were upon unknown seas, it was 
natural that every unusual circumstance should 
give the sailors alarm. Even the easterly trade- 
winds, into the region of which they had en- 
tered, and which were so favorable to their west- 
ward progress, occa.sioned the gravest fears. 
" In these seas," they rea.soned, " the winds 
always blow^ from the east. How, then, can we 


ever go back to Spain ? " But on September 
22 the wind blew strongly from the west, which 
proved a return to Spain was not impossible. 

Still, the men thought they had gone far 
enough, and daily grew more impatient and 
distrustful of their commander, whom, after all, 
they knew only as a foreign adventurer whose 
ideas learned men had pronounced visionary. 
They formed a plan to throw Columbus into the 
sea. This done, they proposed, on their return 
to Spain, to say he had fallen overboard as he 
consulted his astronomical instruments. 

Columbus, whose keen eye saw signs of ris- 
ing mutiny, took steps to meet it. The men 
who were timid he encouraged with kind words. 
To the avaricious he spoke of the great wealth 
they would find in the new countries. Those 
who were openly rebellious he threatened with 
the severest punishment. Thus, by managing 
the men with tact, he kept them at their posts of 
duty till September 25, when, from certain favor- 
able signs, every one grew hopeful that land was 
near. The sea was now calm, and, as the ships 
sailed close together, wafted westward by gen- 
tle breezes, Martin Pinzon, who commanded the 
Pinta, cried out, " Land, land!" and forthwith 
began to chant the " Gloria in Excelsis." But 
he had been deceived by a ridge of low-lying 
cloud. For a week following, from many favor- 
able indications, all on board were confident 
that as each day drew to a close land would be 
discovered on the next — and with each morn- 
ing came bitter disappointment. This state 
of feeling continued till October 7, when, as 
the Nina, the smallest of the vessels, was 
breasting the waves ahead of the others, she 
suddenly hoisted a flag and, as a signal that 
land had been sighted, fired a gun, the first 
ever heard upon those silent waters. But the 
ships sailed on ; and no land came in view. 

The high hopes of the sailors now left 
them. The golden countries promised them 
seemed to recede as they approached. They 
became firmly resolved that they would give up 
the search after phantom lands and return to 
their homes. Columbus had exhausted his pow- 
ers of persuasion. He now boldly announced 
that he would continue his voyage to the 
Indies in spite of all dangers. Doubtless he 
knew he could not much lontrer control his tur- 



bulent, hot-tempered followers. But the i ith of 
October, the day after he had come to an open 
rupture with them, brought unmistakable signs 
that land was near — such indications as fresh 
weeds that grow near running water, fish that 
were known to Hve about rocks, a limb of a tree 
with berries on it, and a carved staff. Every eye 
eagerly scanned the horizon. Night came on, 
however, and land had not been discovered ; 
but the eager men were too happy to close their 
eyes in sleep. About ten o'clock, Columbus saw 
a light in the distance which moved to and fro 
in the darkness ; and, shortly after midnight, 
a sailor on the Pinta made the welcome an- 
nouncement that land could be seen. The 
ships now took in sail, and waited for the morn- 
ing. As the 1 2th of October dawned, and the 
light of the rising sun dispelled the soft morn- 
ing mists, Columbus's patience and unflagging 
zeal had their reward. He could plainly see 
land ; and he tells us it looked " like a garden 
full of trees." It was an island belonging to 
what is now the Bahama group. 

The ships soon cast anchor ; and the boats 
were let down and rowed rapidly to a landing- 
place on the coast. Columbus, richly dressed 
and wearing complete armor, sprang upon the 
shore, bearing aloft the colors of Spain. He 
was closely followed by the captains of the 
Pinta and the Niiia and a number of sailors, 
each captain carrying a banner upon which 
were wrought a green cross and the initials of 
Ferdinand and Isabella. They all, as soon as 
their feet touched the land, " fell upon their 
knees," and offered up their " immense thanks- 
givings to Almighty God." 

When Columbus arose he planted the flag of 
Spain firmly in the soil. Who can properly ap- 
preciate the feelings that must have stirred his 
soul at this moment ! 

No wonder that Columbus was radiant with 
joy as he looked around him. No wonder that 
he wrote in his journal : " The beauty of the 
new land far surpasses the Campina de Cordova. 
The trees are bright with an ever verdant foli- 
age, and are always laden with fruit. The 
plants on the ground are high and flowering. 
The air is warm as that of April in Castile." 

No wonder that he said: " I felt as if I could 
ne\er leave so charming a spot, as if a thousand 


tongues would fail to describe all these things, 
and as if my hand were spellbound and refused 
to write." 

Joy filled his heart ; for he regarded himself 
as under the special guidance of God. Truly he 
had cause for thankfulness. Heaven had given 
him a high and noble purpose and had granted 


him its fulfilment. He had reached the land 
that lay west of P'.uropc, and which he believed 
to be a remote part of Asia ; but he had really 
found America. By his hand the veil of ob- 
scurity had been lifted from the New World, and 
soon it became known to civilized man in all its 
matchless beauty. 

aJO^ M.u-r)ti.i3cjto9'N2>^sor) 

^\'HEN the feast is spread in our country's 
When the nations are gathered from far 
and near, 
\\Tien East and West send up the same 
Glad shout, and call to the lands, " Good 
cheer ! " 
When North and South shall give their 
The fairest and best of the century bom, 
Oh, then for the king of the feast make room ! 
Make room, we pray, for the scarlet thorn ! 

Not the goldenrod from the hillsides blest. 

Not the pale arbutus from pastures rare, 
Not the waving wheat from the mighty West, 

Nor the proud magnolia tall and fair 
Shall Columbia unto the banquet bring. 

They, willing of heart, shall stand and wait ; 
For the thorn, with his scarlet crown, is king. 

.Make room for him at the splendid fete ! 

Do we not remember the olden tale ? 

And that terrible day of dark despair. 
When Columbus, under the lowering sail. 
Vol. XIX.— 43. 

Sent out to the hidden lands his prayer ? 
And was it not he of the scarlet bough 

Who first went forth from shore to greet 
That lone grand soul, at the vessel's prow. 

Defying fate with his tiny fleet ? 

Grim treachery threatened, above, below, 

hvA death stood close at the captain's side, 

When he saw — oh, joy ! — in the sunset glow. 

The thorn-tree's branch o'er the waters 


' Land ! Land ahead ! " was the joyful .shout; 

The vesper hymn o'er the ocean swept ; 

The mutinous sailors faced about ; 

Together they fell on their knees and wept. 

At dawn they landed with pennons white; 

They kissed the sod of San Salvador ; 
But dearer than gems on his doublet bright 

Were the scarlet berries their leader bore ; 
Thorny and sharp, like his future crown, 

Blood-red, like the wounds in his great 
heart made. 
Yet nn emblem true of his proud renown 

Whose glorious colors shall never faile. 

,/-5,' nC' 

-CVHlTn 11' II 

.^ r *- Q - . . - ■ ,^ 




AM asked to tell the 

readers of St.Nicho- 

' LAS something about 

the " Scarlet Thorn." 

lit we have no scarlet 

thorn ; that is, no one 

species to which this 

name is specially applied. 

When I was a boy I once 

went into a store and 

asked the merchant for 

trees that grew all about, but this particular one 
had fruit that surpassed all others in its ciuality. 
I had discovered when a boy that their fruit 
differed in this respect as much as did that of 
apple-trees. Nearer by the house were some 
thorn-trees that had unusually large fruit, but it 
was so hard and dry 1 could not eat it. 

'I'here are a great many species of the thorn 
distributed throughout the United States. All 
the northern species, so far as I know, have 
white flowers. In the South they are more 

a piece of " flowered calico." Some girl had inclined to be pink or roseate. If Columbus 

asked me to contribute a "block" to her quilt, picked up at sea a spray of the thorn, it was 

My people laughed at me when I told them, doubtless some Southern .species, — let us be- 

because they said all calico was " flowered." lieve it was the Washington thorn, which grows 

So I may say that all or nearly all thorn-apples on the banks of streams from Virginia to the 

are red, though I have occasionally seen a Gulf, and loads heavily with small red fruit, 

yellow variety. Every country boy and girl One species of thorn in the South is called the 

knows the thorn-tree, with its mass of white apple-haw ; its fruit is large, and is much used 

bloom in May and its mass of red fruit in for tarts and jellies. The commonest species 

the fall. Last September I spent some weeks 
in a farm-house situated high up on one of the 
pastoral slopes of the C'nt.skills, and one of my 
favorite walks was to a thorn-tree that grew in 
a remote field on the mountain-side. It was 
loaded with pale-red fruit, which, the latter part 
of the month, was excellent. The mellower 
ones fell to the ground. I used to ])ick out the 
larger and fairer ones, and when [ had eaten 
enough would fill my i)ockets to give the peo- 
ple at the house a treat. The cattle liked them, 
too, and often I would find the ground cleaned 
of ihem, but a little shake of the tree would 
bring down niiirc. There were several ihorn- 

throughout New York and New England is 
probably the white thorn ; its thorns and 
blanches are of a whitish tinge, the fruit coral- 
red. Our thorn-trees do not differ very much 
from the English hawthorn. 

The thorn belongs to the great famil\- of trees 
that includes the apple, peach, pear, raspberry, 
strawberry, etc., — namely, the rose family, or 
Rosacea. Hence the apple, ]jear, and ]ilum are 
often grafted on the white thorn. 

A curious thing about the thorns is that they 
are suppressed or abortive branches. The an- 
cestor of this tree must have been terribly 
aliused some time, to have its branches turn to 

Till-; SCARl.El' TllOKN. 

thorns. Take a young applc-trcc and use it 
roughly enough, put it in hard, stony soil, 
let the cattle browse it down and hook it and 
bruise it, and it will develop thorns almost as 
hard and quite as sharp as those of the thorn- 
tree ; its tender branches become so discour- 
aged and embittered that they turn almost to 
bone, and wound the hand that touches them. 
The seedling pear-tree is usually very thorny 
when young, much more so than the apple, 
which makes one think it is more recently out 
of the woods. As it grows oUler its manner in 
this respect improves. 

."Vn apple-tree or a thorn-tree in the fields 
where the cattle can come at it, has a pro- 
longed struggle for existence, and they both 
behave in about the same manner. They 
spread out upon all sides and grow very dense, 
crabbed, and thorny, till they have become so 
broad upon the ground that the catde cannot 


reach their central shoots ; then quickly from 
the midst of this S]jiny mound up goes a stalk, 
and the tree has won the victory. After this 
stalk becomes a fully developed tree, in the 
of the apple, the thorns disappear and the bar- 
rier of crabbed branches at its foot gradually 
dies down. But the thorn-tree does not get over 
its wrath so readily ; it keeps its sharp, spiteful 
weapons as if to guard its fruit against some 
imaginary danger. 

I have an idea that persistent cultivation and 
good treatment would greatly mollify the sharp 
temper of the thorn, if not change it completely. 

The flower of the thorn would become us 
well as the national flower. It belongs to such a 
hardy, spunky, unconquerable tree, and to such 
a numerous and useful family. Certainly, it 
would be vastly better than the merely delicate 
and pretty wild flowers that have been so gen- 
erally named. 


Bv Lillian L, 1'rice. 





LAN, lad, hast thee 
closed up the mill?" 
" Ay, Mother ; 
'deed I have," 
laughed Alan, com- 
ing into the living- 
room from the mill- 
place, and brushing 
flour from his rosy 
face as he spoke. 
" Thou thinkest I have no head for care- 
taking. Mother; but 'deed the .sluices are shut 
and the sacks bestowed; every bar is up and 
weighted, and the place dark as a dungeon. 
I 'm going to help Nancy fetch the milk." 

" Snuff the candles and jog poppet's cradle 
yon," said the busy dame, stirring the porridge- 
pot, with a thoughtful look in her eyes. " It 
be a coldish night, Alan. Spy carefully up and 
down the road as thee goest to Nancy. Hark ! 
what was that ? " 

"Oh, nothing at all. Mother! " said .Man. put- 
ting the wooden yoke for tlie milk-|jaiis over his 

shoulders. " Belike it was Sukey stamping in 
her stall." 

He tramped oft' to the barnyard, but the good- 
wife was not satisfied. 

She called the children from their romp in the 
out-kitchen, and, putting their bowls of porridge 
before them, took up a candle and entered the 
dark mill to examine its fastenings herself 

It was a warm, sweet, musty place. The rafters 
were half hidden by dusty festoons of cobwebs. 
The ho[)pers, which whirred and purred all day 
long for the family living, stood silent and dumb. 
The wooden wheel shutting off the sluices 
lay well fastened back, and high in a corner 
was the pile of white bags, tied and billeted with 
wooden tally-sticks, and awaiting their owners. 

" There 's a smitch of good corn there," said 
the dame, leaning over to push her finger against 
a bag lest it were not filled to hard pressure. 
" Many a loaf of bread for Dale-Rill-side lies 
tliere, and corn 's none too plenty with the war 
and plundering all about us! " She sighetl and 
went back tu the li\ing-ro()m. 



Nancy and Alan entered with tlie milk-pails. 
" It 's freezing a weeny," said Nancy, giving over 
her pails to her mother. " There 's a bit of ice 
along the goose brook. The ground 's hard as 
the ax-head, and oh, but there 's a bonny circle 
round the moon ! " 

"Snow," commented Alan. " And then Squire 
Mortimer cannot ride down to pay his tally and 
give us the silver for winter shoon." 

" You can ay foot it a bit longer as you 
stand," said the dame, smiling. " It 's not lack 
of silver that fretteth me, nor the riding down 
of the Squire. I pray we do not see the riding 
down of Cornwallis's men." 

" They raided Sandy Farm last week," re- 
marked Alan, flinging a billet of wood on the 
fire. "They took all the cattle." 

" What would 'ee do, braver Alan, if Corn- 
wallis came to 'ee mill ? " piped a wee towhead 
over his porridge-bowl. 

" Hark to Jackie ! " laughed Alan, catching 
him up for a kiss. " 'Deed, I would put spurs 
to Sukey, and ride — ride — ride — over .sticks 
and stones and stubble, forsooth, to our camp 
on the Raritan." 

" Ay, lad, it 's brave to say ; but I would not 
have the trial for thee, — that would I not! " 

Nancy cleared away the supper and sang the 
children to sleep, as they lay in their low trundle- 
beds with the door of the living-room open. 
" Sing ' Burned Byres,' " pleaded Jackie, sleepily. 
The tall candles flared, and Nancy crooned, 

Click clacket, click clacket, 
They riilet away. 
Full forty brave men 
At th' peep o' th' day ; 
But say was it brav'ry 
Burned byres to see 
O'er all the broad village 
O' Stane-by-the-Lea? 

" Thee 's a bit too gruesome in thy singing," 
sighed the dame, listening sharply. " Hist ! 
Does thee no hear hoof-beats ? " 

" Ay, do I," said Nancy, quietly ; and going 
to the lattice she turned its broad button and 
looked out across the gray moonlit landscape 
far northward to the line of woods. The brood- 
ing stillness of coming snow lay over everything. 
Through this stillness, sharp and distinct came 
the even but distant beat of hoofs, — not the 


light click of a single rider, but the sound of a 
number of horses' feet. 

"They be over the ridge yet," said Nancy, 
taking down her saddle. " 'T is windless, and 
sound travels far. Which shall 't be that rides 
Sukey, Mother — Alan or I ? " 

Alan came in at the door. 

" Not thy saddle, Nancy," he cried. " Let 
me go ! " 

" Nay, I am safe enough on Sukey ! Bethink 
thee of the rough soldiers ! Stay to protect 
mother, Alan ! " 

" But the road is dark and broken ; soldier 
bands are prowling hither and yon," he cried, 
looking with terror at Nancy tying on her 

" Let Nancy go," said the dame. " We 'II 
have shift enough to hold the mill, I fear." 

" Now ride ! " cried Alan, as Sukey was 
saddled, bitted, and bridled. " Ride, Nancy, 
and pray help from Dickinson's men." 

Nancy caught up the bridle, and whispered 
to Sukey. Then away she rode in the darkness, 
humming half unconsciously the little song, as 
Sukey's hoofs beat the time : 

Click clacket, click clacket, 
They ridet away ; 
Their roses were red, 
An' their feathers streamed gay. 
But redder than roses 
Th' stains you may see 
Of sword and long saber 
At Stane-by-the-Lea ! 

Alan carried the babies up into the garret, 
and snuggled them warm under blankets. They 
barricaded the living-room doors, and then the 
real difficulty arose in hiding the bags of flour. 

" Where — where can they be stowed ? " cried 
the dame. But Alan answered in action. Squar- 
ing his broad young shoulders for the task, he 
dragged them one at a time, and flung them 
down the well. 

" Thee 's ruined them forever, so ! " wailed ilie 

" No, Mother, only for the bottom few, and 
e'en then Cornwallis's men shall not seize them 
— perchance. One looks not for flour down 
a well." 

The soldiers were on the brow of the hill as 
the last fat bag sank below the well-curb. The 

■39=1 CORNWALLIS'S MEN. 677 

siiuail li;ul made a detour to plunder a poultry- next attacke<l, tlic lattices shaken and 1 /eaten, 

yard, and live chickens and geese squaked as and splintering glass made holes in the diamond 

they rode up. .Man barred the mill door, the panes which a fist might enter, 

mill being still full enough of corn and un- " Ujien, open! — or we'll burn ye, — mother 

ground grain for rich spoil ; and they waited. and child ! " 

" Open in the name o' the King ! " cried a 
soldier's rough voice. 

'• Keep a still tongue, Mother," whispered 
.Man. •• Let them ay batter and beat a while." 

•■ Let us in to your fire I 'T is .snowing geese- 
feathers ! " roared another. 

" Come, give us your bacon Hitches an' ropes 
o' onions ! " 

" Corn, corn ! Open tli' mill ! " 

Sharp spurs clinked on the garden stones, 
while the white snow-storm showered down its 
scurrying first flakes, and then the stout oak 
doors of the mill shook with the battering force 
of muskets and clubs. The house doors were 

"There be Hessians there,' said .Man, 

A great fist was thrust through llie lattice, 
pushing the barricade backward, and then it 
was overturned with a crash, the window flung 
wide, and in another instant a soldier had 
hurled himself into the room, followed by sev- 
eral comrades, roaring and laughing. 

" By my faith. Mother, this fire burns well ! 
' T will take the frost from our bones ! \\ho 
owns this mill ? " 

"One Robert Dale, a jjatriot," answered 
.Man. '• .\nd he being in service, I, his son, 
am in charge." 



" So ho, Sir Spratling ? Come, tlicH, show us 
the corn-bins." 

" That will I not," he returned jjromptly. 

" Come, lad," said a tall soldier of fine mili- 
tary bearing, who now appeared beyond the 
barricades. " 'T is the shortest shrift. You or 
the dame must show us the bins, else my men 
will find them, and that will be worse for you." 

" Mayhap," said Alan, firmly. " But I '11 not 
have it said that Alan Dale was the coward to 
show thieves how to steal the trusted goods of 
his neighbors ! The bins be not hard for clever 
robbers to find. My service is not necessary." 

" The lad says well," said the dame. 

" Ye '11 no take my mother for guide either," 
continued Alan ; " or I '11 give one of ye the 
chance to knock me down, and only that, tliat 
ye 've had the years to get the strength and 
size I lack ! " 

" Softly, softly ! Go ahead, men," ordered 
the tall officer; " and keep a civil tongue, young 
Jackanapes, lest the men do you a mischief. I 
like you," he added, in a low quiet tone. Then 
he sat wearily down by the fire, whilst the men 
began the sack of the mill. 

" Thou hast the look of a gentleman, .sire. I 
would thy actions bore thee out," said the dame. 

" Madam, war lays on the soldier commands 
which the man abhors," he replied. " Have 
you not a baby here ? " as his eyes fell on the 
empty cradle. 

" Yea." 

" I left a little one three months old in Kent. 
If I might be trusted, can I see the baby ? " 

'' No, lie shall not. Mother, while he lets them 
carry on — bedlam yon in the mill-place ! " cried 
.\lan, tortured by the sounds he heard. " He 
shall not cosset our baby while his soldiers steal 
our corn ! " 

lUit the dame understood the look in the 
young officer's face, and brought in the baby, 
warm and rosy from her blanket nest under the 
rafters. She laid her in the officer's arms. 

" Bonny, bonny baby ! " he .said, touching the 
tiny hands with reverent fingers and brushing 
the little cheek with his lips. 

" I '11 no bide it ! " cried Alan. " Put down 
our baby and call off your men." 

" Soft, .soft, son Alan ! Hark ! " 

The officer started, too. Again the sounds of 

hoof-beats a|)i)roached, clear aljove the din in 
cellar and mill, — nearer, nearer. The tender 
look faded from the ofiicer's face. " We are 
surprised ! " he said, and laid the baby back in 
its mother's arms. 

'• Madam, for a space you have made me 
happy. 1 thank you. What is the baby's name?" 

His hand was on his sword-hilt as he waited 
for her reply. 

" Ruth Dale," answered the dame. Then 
with a call he sprang in among his men. 

Tramp, tramp! clank, clank! The torches 
flared, and the young officer helped at the lad- 
ing of the horses with sacks of corn. 

" Dickinson's men ! " cried Alan, joyfully. 
" Hi, hurrah there! Dickinson's men!" 

Up they came in the falling snow, their horses 
steaming; and Sukey came too, brave, noble lit- 
tle Sukey with Nancy on her back. 

In the sharp onset which followed, Alan took 
a part, handling a musket with the heartier will 
for his former helplessness. But Nancy out in 
the dark barn quietly blanketed Sukey, and then 
ran into the house to soothe the screaming 
children, terrified by the musket-shots. 

The com was saved. Only a few bags were 
gotten away with, and the flour in the well- 
curb lay quite undiscovered. Then back into 
the north rode Comwallis's men. 

But Nancy, when the confusion was over, 
sobbed with her head in her mother's lap, while 
Alan exulted. " That was a ride ! " he cried. 
" Mother, you should ay have let me take it ! " 

" 'T was cold," said Nancy, " and Sukey 
liked not the icy water at the ford, — which 
minds me of my wet shoon. And had I not 
met the men at the forks, surely we could not 
have ridden here in time." 

" If ever there was mu.sic in nags' hoof-beats, 
't was when they rode up," said Alan. 

That was the last raid of Comwallis's men in 
Dale-Rill-side. But when the war had been 
over for several years, the postman stopped at 
the mill one snowy Christmas eve, and out of his 
bag came a gift from far over the seas. It was 
a silver mug, and on it, beautifully graven in 
<|uniiit old F.nglish lettering, were the words: 
RuiH Dale. America. 

From the Officer's Bai!V, 


WHAT THiMc;r Befell the 




ISv Virginia WfidnwARD Cloud. 

"On! Mother Meg, come out, come out, 

And hearken what I say! 
There are strange happenings about 

The Squire's house this day I 
The mare is gone from out her stall, — 

Alack, unlucky fate! — 
Three crows did fly around the hall 

As I ran out the gate I 

" A bumblebee hath stung the Squire ; 
His face is twice its size. 
My cake hath vanished off the fire. 

ISeuitciicd from 'ncath my eyes ! 
Old Goody Gay doth sore ijenioan 

Some spirit in the well, 
Which makes the bucket weigh ten stone 

And keeps it under spell ! " 

Then Buxom Bess, the Squire's maid, 

Wrung her two hands, forlorning; 
But sim[)le Jake, who after sped, 
Just stood and looked and wagged his head,- 

All on tills Friday Morning. 


So Mother Meg a charin 
dill brew 
For Bess, the Si|uire's 
lass : 
A wondrous potion to 
What things had come 
to pass. 
She drew three hairs, and 
each one named. 
From out her old cat's 
And cast them in the fire 
that flamed 
Beneath her caldron 




Took herbs which grew the well beside. 

Each with its magic art, 
A snake-tooth and a horsehair tied, 

And earth a seventh part, 
And these did brew and brew and brew. 
Within the caldron there, 

Then with her hazel rod she drew 
Three circles in the air : 

Abra-cad-abra, cad-abra, ca-di ! 
Come, my cat with the gleaming 
Abra-cad-abra, cad-alira, cad- 
Banish spell in this smoke 
away ! " 

With this strange charm 
went Bess the maid 
Backward, and slow 

.And three times around 
the house she 

And here and there the 
l)otion laid. 

Those mystic words re- 




68 I 

And lo ! before the morrow, Jake 

Had caught that wandering mare ; 
And slyly from the well did take 

The stones he emptied there ! 
(-•Id Goody, so rejoiced was she, 

Drew water till nigh spent ; 
Then straightway o'er a cup o' tea 

To tell her Gossip went. 

No bees did sting the Squire, because 

The bees he went not nigh. 
And Buxom Bess so busy was 

She saw no black crows fly. 
But her good cake was gone, in truth ; 

Yet this thing I do say, 
She lost not one again, forsooth, 

Until next baking-day! 

Now, if such signs should come to you. 
Speed straight away, I beg. 

And get a magic potion, too, 
Brewed by old Mother Meg. 

But of one Jake, with shambling 
tread, ♦ 

Ask not the road. Take warning! 
For when these things were done and 
He just stood by and wag- 
ged his head — 
All on that Friday Morn- 
ing ! 




Bv E. Vinton Ui.akf,. 

" What 's the matter with ymi now ? " askcil 
Will Grant. 

" An ache or two, in my head," said I. 

" Well, if I was goin' to have aches, I 'd 
have them so they amounted to somethin'. 
That scar aches, where that cougar scratched 
me last fall. So I know it 's goin' to storm." 

" Is that scar your barometer ? " asked I. 

"I say nothin' about your barometers. It 
always aches before a storm ; I know that." 

" Well, if you 've finished skinning that bear, 
we '11 come along," said I. " I actually feel 
sort of shaky and feverish. I wish we might 
rome upon some settler's cabin." 

'• 1 < ame on a felled tree jest now, over 
there," answered Will, pointing over his right 
shoulder. " There 's a trail, too ; but it has n't 
been traveled of late, an' the chips are old." 

"It goes somewhere, though," said I ; " an<l 
rf there is a storm brewing, as you say, why, 
even a deserted cabin will be comfortable." 

Will glanced at the sky, which was all of a dull 
gray, strapped the bearskin behind the saddle, and 
untethered his I was already mounted. 

" Out this way, somewhere, it was," muttered 
Will, leaning over his horse's neck, and scanning 
the ground lietween the tall scattered trees. 

We were no longer in the semi-tropical re- 
gions of the South, but were hunting on a more 
northern spur of the Rockies. We expected 
that same week to rejoin our friends among 
the solemn rocks of " East Gorge." 

" Mere we are," .said Will, at last ; and he 

lolluwed the scarce discernible trail among 
the thickening woods. I rode after. Rangoon 
tossed his head now and then with a quick, sus- 
picious motion, but I paid no attention to him. 

Whether it was because I felt feverish and 
unwell, I know ngt ; but I took little note of 
surroundings as I rode. I longed to find a shel- 
ter from the coming storm where I could take 
a dose of quinine and get a few hours' sleep. 

" Goin' to be sick ? " asked \Vill Grant, with- 
out looking round. 

" Not if I can help it," I answered laconi- 
cally ; and the hunter rejoined : 

" That 's right ; fight it off, if you can. A 
man's will does a power of good sometimes." 

The murmur of a mountain brook that broke 
the stillness was drowned in a peal of thunder 
that died rattling among the distant crags. 

" It strikes me," .said Will, still "trailing" over 
his horse's neck, " that there 's tracks of some 
animal. Put this an' that together, now." 

" A panther," suggested I, as our horses 
splashed through the stony sliallows and 1 
noticed confused tracks in the soft mud of the 
margin. " And traces, too." 

" Do you feel like huntin' ? " he asked. 

" No ; I only want a few hours' quiet." 

" I never remember," observed Will Grant, 
turning to scrutinize me, " of your feeling .sick 
in this fashion, except when you 've been 
hurt or wounded some way." 

" There 's your cabin," I said ; " and a dis- 
mal pl.-ice it looks too. liui 1 don't care." 


" I liope you 'ro goiu' In Ikivl- lui Icvct ami 
ague. I 'vc seen some folks have 'em wiien 
they come West. They was mo.stly settlers, 
though," ruminated Will, persi.stently. 

" I 'ni iiio well .seasoned and too mucli on 
tlie mc)\e tor fever and ague," 1 said impa- 
liently. •' Don't chatter so much about it. 1 
tell you 1 'm not going to be sick." 

Will shook all over with a suppressed laugh, 
and we rode near to the deserted hut. Cirass 
grew rankly into the doorway, and the roof had 
[)artly Allien in. Moss covered the interstices 
between the logs. Both horses snuffed the air, 
and seemed restless and uneasy. 

" Some wild animals have been here," said 
Will, flinging me the bridle as he dismounted. 
•• My liorse won't stand. Hold on a minute." 

He strode boldly forward, rifle 
cocked and ready. He was not 
three feet from the dark and 
jawning doorway, when there 
was a fearful, unearthly 
screech, and a rush through 
the air. ^Vill's rifle went 
oft"; but without effect. The 
next instant he and the larg- 
est panther I ever saw were a^' 
rolling on the ground together ! -^ 

Will's horse jerked himself 
free in one mad, terrified bound, 
nearly dragging me from the sail- 
dle, and fled. Rangoon stood straight 
up in the air, trembling in every limb. 
In just those few seconds, and before I could 
quiet my brave horse with a quick, stern com- 
mand, and get on my feet to go to Will's rescue, 
the panther had well nigh torn his hunting-shirt 
to rags. I dared not fire except at close (juarters, 
for fear of hurting Will ; the two were tumbling 
and writhing all over the ground. I got in a quick 
l)low with my knife behind the panther's shoul- 
der, but he turned on me like a flash. I left 
the knife in him and jumped back. Then 1 got 
a chance at his head and I put a bullet through 
it, and he loosened his claws with a gasp and 
dropped. Then Will Grant sat exhausted on 
the ground, and we stared at each other. 

" Vou look to me as if you were going to be 
the sick one," said I. 

" I guess I am pretty well scratched," said he. 


" \\'ell," said 1, turning about, " are there any 
more panthers in this place ? Because I should 
like to make them a call ! " 

" No, I '11 warrant you," answered Will, rising 
and stepping boldly within the door. " This 
one 's all there was, and he 's enough. Now 
where on earth is that horse?" 

" I thought he was seasoned to 'most every- 
thing," said I. 

" I 'm ashamed of him," said Will ; " but 1 
don't think he 's run far. You see it came so 
suddenly, and I was n't on him either." 

■' \\'e '11 hunt him up," .said 1. 

" You '11 be good enough to stay where you 
are, and start a fire," suggested Oram ; "an' 

I '11 find the horse and come back. He has n't 
gone far. We may as well stay here to-night." 

"Your wounds .should be bandaged," said 1. 
" I have bandages in my case. Wait a bit." 

Notwithstanding Will's assertions that the 
wounds were "just scratches, not worth mind- 
in'," I bound up his shoulder and right arm 
with rare, and fastened together, as best I 
could, the strips of his leathern .shirt. Then he 
set out after his horse, while I tethered mine 
and gave my whole attention to building a fire. 

After it was nicely burning, and Will had 
returned with the runaway, and the bear-steaks 
were sizzling over the coals, I took a dose of 
ipiininc; for I feared 1 had a little touch of 


malaria, caught in the swampy river lowlands 
whence we had just come. I got into the most 
sheltered comer of the cabin, rolled myself in 
my rubber blanket, and went to sleep. In my 
sleep I was dimly conscious of an awful storm. 
It seemed to me that Will had taken both horses 
inside the cabin, and was having much ado to 
quiet them on account of the thunder and light- 
ning I seemed to hear much trampling, much 
loud talking. Or else I dreamed it. 

When I woke it was broad daylight. The 
sun slanted on the wet boughs before the door. 
The horses were inside, sure enough ; and there 
sat Will, rifle in hand, nodding fast asleep. 

" Hullo!" said I, sitting up. 

" Hullo ! " said Will, rising suddenly. "Well, 
if I was n't asleep ! Seems I 've been holdin' 
on to these horses nearly all night! How are 
you ? Any better ? " 

" I think so. Why did n't you wake me at 
midnight ? I meant to keep my watch." 

" You ? I guess not ! " said Will. " I 'd rather 
you 'd be in a condition to do a day's ridin'. 
You were pretty shaky yesterday, though you 
did n't say much. By to-night, if nothin' hap- 
pens, we '11 get to East Gorge. To-day 's the 
first of September." 

" The others are probably there waiting," 
said I. 

" Well, breakfast, and then saddle up. Dig 
some dry wood out of the inside of this shanty, 
if you will, while I straighten things out." 

In half an hour we were riding briskly along 
the fivint trail. The trees grew thinner, and we 
came out on a long, sparsely wooded mountain 
slope that led gradually up to the higher, rocky 
tablelands. The trail, faint enough at the best, 
was here scarcely to be seen except by a prac- 
tised woodsman ; but Will Grant knew the 
country well, and we pushed on at a rapid trot. 
By noon the vegetation had undergone an en- 
tire change. The trees were few and stunted, 
the grass was sparse and short. The solemn 
mountain-peaks seemed to close in around us. 
Still we rode rapidly. Rangoon was sure-footed 
and agile as a cat, and Will's roan was well 
used to mountain travel. Neither of us thought 
it out of the common to ride at full speed through 
the mountain passes, on the brink of precipices, 
where a stunilile would have plunged us to de- 


struction. We took it quite as a matter of 
course that our horses would not stumble. We 
were in a hurry, — that was all. 

"Yonder, round that spur, lies East Gorge," 
said Will, reining in his roan to point. " We '11 
be there in about a couple of hours — and 
they 're there before us." 

" How do you know ?" said I, carelessly. 

" Young man," remarked Will, with severity, 
" are you losing your eyesight, or what ? Have 
I got to teach you woodcraft all over again ? " 

Somewhat mortified, I looked again, and 
this time discerned plainly the thin column of 
smoke that rose from beyond the spur. 

" You 're right, Will. I was careless and 
did n't half look," said I. 

" Don't let me hear you sayin' that again," 
said Will. " I 've known men's lives, here in 
the wilderness, to hang on just such a thread." 

He was right, and I knew it. 

The last two hours of riding were rather 
tedious. We could not go at any speed be- 
cause of rocks and boulders. 

" We '11 go down by the East Pass ; that 's 
better travelin'," remarked the guide at the close 
of the afternoon. " Look yonder ! " 

I looked. Five horses were tethered, grazing 
on the short, unsatisfactory grass of a little open 
mountain meadow. In the shelter of a huge 
boulder burned a fire of stunted pine boughs. 
The camp-kettle was on ; we saw the smile on 
a guide's swarthy face as he turned to wave 
his hat to us. Herries and Hexam, my two 
New York friends, started up at the shout ; 
Miner, the rough, jovial trapper, woke the 
mountain echoes with his sturdy " Hurrah ! " 
and the veteran scout, whose quick ears had 
long ago caught the tramp of our horses' feet, 
was already at our side, his gray hair wind- 
swept from his tanned, beardless face, his hercu- 
lean frame as upright and active as any boy's. 

" How are ye, Rafe, my boy?" with a vice- 
like grip of the hand. " I knew you 'd come — 
I knew the time was up. I 'm glad to see you. 
This time I 'm quite at your service. We '11 go 
down through the southern sierras if you like. 
Wounded, Will?" he asked, with a quizzical 
glance at my companion's hunting-shirt. And 
Will, smiling, owned to a few scratches. 

So we rode into camp. 


[A Tale of Treasure Tro-,;- in tJw Streets of Avw York. ) 

Bv Brandkr Matthkws. 


f the Xovtmher / 

Chapter XVI. 


WO da\s after New- 
Year's, little Jimmy 
Wigger was buried, 
and all the boys of 
the Black Band at- 
tended the funeral. 
Eight of them, in- 
cluding Tom Paul- 
ding, Cissy Smith, 
G. W. Lott, and 

Harry Zachary, were asked to be pall-bearers. 

Tom long remembered his silent walk by the 

side of the coffin as one of the saddest duties 

he had ever performed. 

The next Monday school began again, and 

Tom went back to work. Now that he believed 

studies until then. And whether he could do 
this or not depended now absolutely on the 
finding of the two thousand guineas stolen 
from his great-grandfather. 

At the house, they all missed Uncle Dick. 
In the two months that Mr. Rajxallo had spent 
at Mrs. Paulding's he had made himself quite 
at home, and they had come to look on him 
as a permanent member of the family. Mrs. 
Paulding had greatly enjoyed the long quiet 
talks she had had with her brother after her 
children were gone to bed. Pauline missed a 
playfellow always ready to join in her sports and 
always quick to devise a fresh game. Even 
the Brilliant Conversationalist grieved over Mr. 
Rapallo's departure. Certain little dishes of 
which he had been especially fond she ceased 
to serve, explaining that she would make these 
again "after Mr. Richard do be back." 

But Tom missed him most of all. He felt 
lonely without Uncle Dick, who was older than 

he knew where the stolen guineas were, and 

now that he expected to recover them with his he by nearly thirty years, yet who was always 

uncle's a,ssistance, his hope of being able to go able to look at things from his point of view, 

to the School of Mines increased, and he studied The man and the boy had been very compan- 

harder than ever before that he might fit him- 
self as soon as possible for this new undertak- 
ing. Unless something happened to help Mrs. 
Paulding, Tom knew that at the end of the 

ionable, one to the other. Until long afterw'ard. 
Tom did not know how much his character had 
been influenced by the example of his Uncle 
Dick, and how much Mr. Rapallo's shrewd and 

year he would have to give up his aspirations pithy talks had affected his views of life, 

and take a place in a store, that his earnings What Tom most needed was some one with 

might contribute to the support of the family, whom he could discuss the buried treasure. He 

If he could find the buried treasure, he felt sure was young, and youth is sanguine ; and he felt 

that the money would suffice to tide over the sure that the stolen guineas were really where 

difficulties of the household until after he had he thought they were. But he wanted to have 

been through the School of Mines, and was some one to whom he could talk about them, 

able to make his living as a man, and to sup- so as to keep up his own enthusiasm. There 

port his mother and sister on his income as an were days, during the absence of Uncle Dick, 

engineer. During the Christmas vacation, after when it was very difficult for Tom not to tell 

his uncle had gone, Tom had walked down Ci.ssy Smith, despite Mr. Rapallo's warning, 

to Columbia College and had found out the The secret burned within him and sometimes 

requirements for admission. He believed that it almost burst forth of its own accord. Tom 

he could pass the examination the next year, was strong enough to resist the temptation. He 

late in the spring, if he could keep on with his did not like to have to confess to his uncle 




that he had disregarded the warning. Besides, 
he was a little in doubt how Cissy would accept 
the revelation ; (Jissy was a skeptical boy, with 
a superabundance of cold common sense. In 
imagination, when Tom told Cissy all about the 
buried treasure, and when he came to the long 
string of mere probabilities on which its dis- 
covery depended, he shivered as he fancied 
that he heard Cissy's frank opinion : 

" Shucks ! I don't take any stock in lairy- 
stories like that." 

So Tom told no one. Yet the effort to bottle 
up his great secret must have been obvious at 
times. Corkscrew Lott became aware of it, or 
at least suspicious that something was on Tom's 
mind. Corkscrew's curiosity was greater than 
his pride, and he made up with Tom before 
they had been back at school for a week. He 
threw himself in Tom's way whenever Tom 
went out for a v\^alk. In some strange manner 
he discovered that Tom was interested in the 
vacant lot where the .stepping-stones were ; and 
once, when Tom was drawn — as he often was — 
to go and look at the bank of earth beneath 
which he believed his treasure lay hidden, he 
found Corkscrew prowling around in the lot, 
and poking into its corners as if to spy out 
Tom's secret. 

Corkscrew's curiosity went so far that he 
even stojjped Pauline one day, as she was going 
home from school, to ask a few questions about 
Tom's doings, vainly endeavoring to entrap her 
into some admission as to the cause of her 
brother's change of manner. 

" I did n't know he had changed at all," 
Polly answered simply. 

" Oh, I did n't know, either," explained Cork- 
screw. " I only thought that, maybe, you know, 
he might have got on the track of that buried 
treasure, or stolen money, or something of that 
sort, that used to belong to his great-great-great- 
grandfather, once upon a time." 

When this was repeated to Tom, he regretted 
that he had ever mentioned the loss of the two 
thousand guineas to any of the Black Band, 
and most of all that he had said anything in 
Cork.screw's hearing. He resolved to keep away 
from the stepping-stones until Uncle Dick re- 

Then it struck him llial it would be fun Id 

lead Corkscrew off on a false scent. So when- 
ever he had part of an afternoon to spare, he 
would start off to Morningside Park, and as he 
took care to let Lott know where he was going, 
he soon had the satisfaction of seeing Cork- 
.screw skulking along a block or so behind him. 
Tom would go gravely down the stone steps of 
Morningside Park, and he would pretend to 
sound rocks with a stick and to peer into all 
the crevices he could find. Sometimes he 
would push on down to Central Park when he 
was sure that Corkscrew was following; and 
then he would go all over the old fort which is 
still standing at the upper end of the park. 



.•\nd so the winter passed. Pearly in January 
there was a gentle thaw ; and Tom hoped that 
the cold weather was over and that the ground 
would soon be soft enough for them to begin 
to dig. But on the day before Washington's 
Birthday there came a terrific snow-storm, cov- 
ering the earth with a white mantle nearly a 
yard thick. The wind blew fiercely down the 
Hudson, tossing the snow-WTcaths high in the 
air, and swirling them off down the hillside into 
the river. Then there followed a hanl frost, 
and the thermometer fell day after day, anil the 
wind blew keener and keener. 

All things come to an end in time, and the 


winter was over before Tom or his mother had 
any word from Richard Rapallo. 

" Uon't expect to hear from me till you see 
me," he had said to his sister just before he left 
the house. " You know I 'm not ' The Com- 
jilete Letter- Writer.' If I get my work done, 
I '11 drop in again when you least expect me." 

.\s the season advanced, and after the final 
thaw had come, the boys gave up coasting and 
skating, and began kite-llying. The river was 
open again, although huge fields of ice still 
came floating past. There were signs of spring 
at last. Across the river, up near the Palisades, 
there began to be a hint of fresh verdure. The 
long tows were once more to be seen moving 
slowly up and down the river. 

The trees on the hillside below the Riverside 
drive and the few bushes about Mrs. Paulding's 
house were green again before there was any 
news of Uncle Dick. The hard part — or at 
least so Tom thought it — was that they did 
not know where Mr. Rapallo was. Sometimes 
Tom saw the Old Gentleman who leaned over 
the Wall walking slowly along the parapet of 
the drive before his house, as if he were in- 
haling the freshness of the spring; and Tom 
wondered if this benevolent-looking old gen- 
tleman knew where Uncle Dick was, and 
whether he would be greatly offended if Tom 
should go up and ask him. 

One day when spring was well advanced, — 
it w\ns then about the middle of Aj)ril, — Tom 
determined to walk past the vacant lots where 
the stepping-stones were, that he might at least 
enjoy the sight of the outward covering of the 
wealth he was seeking. To his dismay he found 
that there was a cart standing on the tongue of 
land ])rojecting out to the stepping-stones, and 
that this cart was but one of a dozen or more 
engaged in emptying builder's rubbish. 

Tom did not know what to do. If these lots 
were to be filled up, then the difficulty of recov- 
ering the buried treasure would be doubled. 
Of course he saw that he could oppose no 
resistance to the work ; he had to suffer in 

The next day, when he went to see how far 
the filling had progressed, he was delighted to 
find that the rubbish was now being emptied at 
one of the upper comers of the block, and that 


the fence had been replaced across the tongue 
of land which led out to the stepping-stones. 

About that time there came a week of warm 
weather, and it seemed indisputable that there 
would be no more frost till the fall. Still there 
was no word from Uncle Dick. Tom thought 
that the hour had come when an effort ought 
to be made to get at the buried treasure ; but 
he himself did not know how to go to work. 
He had relied on his uncle's help. 

Suddenly the fear came to him that perhaps 
Uncle Dick would not return to them until 
too late. What would Tom do then ? 

As the (lays drew on, Tom became more and 
more doubtful about his uncle's coming. At 
last he determined to wait no longer, but to see 
what he could do by himself. 

He recalled what Mr. Rapallo had said about 
hydraulic mining on the night of the fire, when 
little Jimmy was run over. Uncle Dick had 
declared that the stolen guineas could best be 
got at by hydraulic mining. What that was 
Tom did not know. He resolved to find out. 

One Saturday afternoon he went down to the 
Apprentices' Library, and took out a book which 
the kindly librarian indicated as likely to give 
him the best account of the process. The next 
Saturday he got another volume ; and a third 
Saturday he spent in looking up articles in the 
cyclopedias and in the bound magazines where 
the librarian had told him to search. From 
these, some of which were fully illustrated, Tom 
managed to get an understanding of the princi- 
ples of hydraulic mining; and he thought he 
saw how his uncle meant to apply them to the 
getting out of the two thousand guineas buried 
near the stepping-stones. 

Hydraulic mining is the name given in the 
West to tiie method of washing out a hillside 
containing auriferous sands by the impact of a 
stream of water, which carries down, into a pre- 
pared channel in the valley below, the " pay 
gravel " in the hill on both sides. After Tom had 
mastered the suggestion, he saw that his uncle 
meant in like manner to wash away the dirt and 
sand which hid the remains of Jeffrey Kerr. 

The stepping-stones were near the upper 
end of the vacant block, and the ground sloped 
shar])ly away below, where the brook had run 
formerly. Tom saw that if a little channel 


were dug around two j)rojecting rocks, it would 
then be easy to wash out the loose earth, partly 
rubbish and partly sand, which formed the pro- 
jecting point over the stepping-stones. If his 
guess as to the present position of the stolen 
money were right, then he would have to wear 
into the bank a hole fully twenty feet deep. 
With the aid of the small canal Tom had 
planned, he thought he saw his way clear to a 
most successful operation in hydraulic mining 
— if he could only get plenty of water. 

Where the water was to come from, was a 
question for which he had no answer. Uncle 
Dick had suggested that the buried treasure 
could be got out by hydraulic mining, but he 
had not hinted how he was to get the water. 

While Tom was puzzling over this to no pur- 
pose, one warm sunny day in May, when the 
leaves were opening on the trees and the bushes, 
Uncle Dick came back most unexpectedly. 

He gave no account of his wanderings; he 
offered no explanation of his long absence ; but 
from chance allusions in his conversation Tom 
and Polly made out that he had been traveling 
part of the time he had been away, and that he 
had been to Boston, and to Chicago, and possi- 
bly even as far as San Francisco. 

After supper he asked Tom to come up to 
his room. 

When Tom had followed his uncle out of the 
dining-room, Polly asked her mother anxiously, 
" Did Uncle Dick bring you that Christmas 
present he owes you ? " 

" He has not given it to me yet," Mrs. Paul- 
ding answered ; " but he will some day." 

" I wish he would," said Pauline. " I do so 
want to know what it is." 

Chapter XVII. 


Tom had a long 
conference that 
evening in the 
former's room. 
Tom told his uncle 
the exact state of 
affairs. He described how the dumping of rub- 
bish had begun again just over the stepping- 

stones, and how it had ceased the next day. 
He set forth Lott's attempts to spy on him, and 
his own success in throwing Corkscrew's curi- 
osity off the scent. He gave a full account 
of his own endeavors to discover the methods 
of hydraulic mining. 

'• I think I have found out how you mean to 
go to work, Uncle Dick," he said ; " but I con- 
fess that 1 don't see where we are to get the 
water to wash out all that dirt." 

" That will be easy enough," replied his uncle. 
"We can have all the water we need — when 
we need it. That will not be for some time yet." 

Tom went on to tell Mr. Rapallo how very 
difficult it had been for him to keep his secret 
to himself 

" But I have done it ! " he concluded. " I 
have n't said a single, solitary word to any- 

" I 'm not sure that the time has n't come 
to take one or two of your friends into your 
confidence," Uncle Dick responded. 

" Can I tell Cissy Smith ? " cried Tom ; " and 
Harrj'-Zachary, too ? " 

" From what you have said to me about your 
friends," his uncle answered, " I should judge 
that Cissy and Harry will be your safest allies 
in this affair." 

" Cissy is my best friend," explained the boy, 
" and Harry is my next-best." 

" Do you think they would be willing to help 
you ? " asked Mr. Rapallo. 

'' Willing ? " echoed Tom. " They 'd just be 
delighted, both of them, to be let into a scheme 
like this. What do you want them to do ? " 

" 1 don't know yet, exactly," his uncle re- 
sponded ; " but there will be work enough of 
one kind or another. We shall have to dig a 
trench to carry off the water, for instance." 

" They go to school with me, you know. 
Uncle Dick," said Tom ; " and they are free 
only at the same time that I am, — Saturday 
afternoons, mostly." 

" I think it will be better for you to have a 
whole day before you — " began Mr. Rapallo. 

" Then I don't see how we can come," Tom 
interrupted, " unless we play hooky." 

" Don't you have Decoration Day as a holi- 
day ? " asked his uncle. 

" Decoration Day ? " Tom repeated, with a 


little disa|)|Hiiiitiiu'nt in his voice. " Oil, yes, 
— but that 's iiiiirc than a fortnight oflf!" 

"I doubt it' ue 'II be reaily for a fortnight 
vet," Mr. Rapallo relumed. " There are va 
rious things to do before we can turn on the 
water aiid \ out the gold — if there 's any 
there to wash out." 

" Uncle Dick," cried 'I'oni, piteously, " don't 
say now that you don't think the gold is 
there ! " 

"Oh, yes," Mr. Rajiallo answered; " 1 think 
it is there — but I tlon't know. We have only 
a ' working hyjiothesis,' you remember." 

" I remember," Tom re[)eated, dolefully ; " but 
1 've been so long thinking about those two 
thousand guineas lying in the ground there by 
the stepping-stones that it 
seems as if I could see them, 
almost. I feel certain sure 
they are there ! " 

■' Let us hope so," his 
uncle responded. " And 
don't be down-hearted about 
it. If we are to get that gold, 
we must all believe that it 
is there until we know that 
it is n't." 

" I know it is" asseverated 

"To-morrow," Mr. Rajjallo 
continued, " you must take 
your friends into your con- 
fidence. 1 have business 
dowTi-town and I '11 inquire 
whether the lawyers have 
found out yet to whom that vacant block be- 
longs. If they have, I '11 try to get permission 
for us to dig out your two thousand guineas." 

So the next afternoon, when school was out, 
Tom Paulding took Cissy Smith and Harry 
Zachary off with him. 

Corkscrew Lott was going to join them, but 
Tom said to him frankly : 

" I 've got something particular to say to 
Cissy and Harry, and so I don't want any- 
body else to come with us, Lott." 

" Can't you tell me, too ? " Lott pleaded. 

" I can, of course," Tom answered, '• if I 
want to. But I don't." 
Vol.. XIX. — 44. 

TOM PAUT.niNG. 689 

"Oh, very well!" said ("orkscrew, gruffly; 
" I don't waiU to know any of your old se- 

Notwithstanding this disclaimer of all inter- 
est in their aft'airs, Corkscrew lingered at school 
uiuil after the three other boys had gone on 
ahead, and then he followed them from afar, 
in the hope that something unforeseen might 
reveal the matter of their discourse. 

Harry Zachary gave a swift glance back 
when they came to their first turning. He 
caught sight of Lott, who stopped short when 
he saw that he was detected. 

" 'I'hcre 's Corkscrew on our trail," said 
H:irry. " Let 's throw him off the track." 

" How are you going to do it .'' " said Cissy. 


" I 've got a way," Harry explained. " Fol- 
low me." 

And with that he turned into the side street, 
and walked rapidly toward the elevated railroad 

" Corkscrew will be sure to follow us now," 
Harry declared ; " and when we come to the sta- 
tion, we '11 go up-stairs. He can't come up after 
us because he knows we should see him then." 

" But we don't want to pay car-fare to no- 
where just to get rid of Corkscrew Lott," re- 
marked Cissy Smith, rolling along a little ahead 
of the others. 

" We need n't pay a cent," Harry Zachary 
res])onded. "We < an just wait on the outside 


platform, out of sight from where he is, while 
we can see him through the window. Then 
when he goes, we '11 slip down again and run 
to the Three Trees." 

" All right,'' said Cissy ; and Tom also agreed 
to the plan. 

The boys went up the steps of the elevated 
railroad station ; and through the window of 
the covered platform they saw Corkscrew come 
up and stare hard at the station and hesitate a 
little, twisting about as usual. Then he set out 
to cross the avenue to look at the inner plat- 
forms ; but, before he could do that, a train from 
up-town and another from down- town arrived 
and departed with much puffing and hissing, 
and shrill squeaking of the brakes. So Cork- 
screw gave up his effort to " shadow " the three 
friends, and went on his way home. 

As .soon as he was gone, Tom, Cissy, and 
Harry came out of hiding and started off for 
the Riverside Park, where there was a favorite 
spot of theirs, down by the railroad and the 
river. Here three trees grew in a group, with 
knotted and distorted branches, so that half a 
dozen boys could find seats amid their limbs. 

When the three friends had arrived at this 
pleasant place, doubly delightful in the fresh 
fairness of spring, Tom, who had refused to 
open the subject before, said solemnly, " Fel- 
lows, can you keep a secret ? " 

" Shucks ! " cried Cissy Smith, forcibly. " Did 
you bring us all the way down here just to tell 
us a secret ? I thought you said you wanted 
us to help you do something." 

"Is it about your lost treasure?" asked 
Harry Zachary, sympathetically. 

" How did you know ? " Tom inquired, in 

" 1 don't know; I guessed," Harry explained. 
" You told us once that you were going to 
hunt for it, and you 've been so different since 
then that I thought perhaps you had got a 
notion where it was." 

" I have found it ! " said Tom, with intense 
enjoyment of the surprise. 

" How much is it?" asked the practical 

" Where is it ? " Harry cried. 

"It 's two thousand guineas," Tom rei)lied ; 
" and it is now buried far from liere. And I 
want you two to help me get at it." 


" Buried ? " Cissy repeated. " Then you have 
not seen it? " 

" No," Tom replied, " but I know it 's there. 
It must be there! " 

" We '11 help you, of course," .said Harry 
Zachary, with a return of his shy and gentle 
manner. " But we .shall have to kill the guards, 
sha'n't we ? " 

" What do you mean ? " Tom asked in 

" I .suppose there must be somebody guard- 
ing this buried treasure, and they must be re- 
moved, of course. ' Dead men tell no tales,' 
you know," Harry explained. " And I have 
been reading about a new way of getting rid 
of an enemy ; the Italians used to do it in the 
Middle Ages. You have a glass stiletto, — that 's 
a sort of dagger made of glass, — and you stab 
the man in the back, and break off the blade, 
and throw the handle into the Grand Canal ; 
then the man 's dead and nobody knows you 
had anything to do with it." 

" I 'm glad of that," said Cissy, dryly. 

" But is it necessary to kill the guards ? " 
Harry went on. " Would n't it do to give them 
something to put them to .sleep while we get at 
the treasure? I reckon Cissy could coax his 
father to give us a prescription for something 
that would put a whole platoon of police to 
.sleep for the day." 

"Shucks!" said Cissy vigorously. " I 'm not 
going to stab anybody in the back with a glass 
dagger, nor are you either, Harry Zachary. 
.And I 'm not going to try to put a platoon of 
police to sleep. It would be what my father 
calls a ' dangerous experiment.' Suppose some 
of them did n't wake up, and the rest of them 
did, and they clubbed the life out of us, where 
would the fun be then ? " 

" You need n't quarrel over the glass dagger 
and the policemen," Tom declared, " because 
there is n't any guard to kill, this time." 

" A buried treasure without any guard ? " 
Harry repeated. " I never heard of such a 

" Well," said Tom, " you can hear of it now 
if you want to listen. Rut first you have both 
got to promise that never by thought, word, or 
deed will you ever reveal any of the secret I am 
now aliout to confide in vou." 

TOM rAUl.niNG. 

"I'hat 's all right,"' Cissy responded, '' I won't 
say a word, — never. " Perhaps this delayetl 
double negative served to make the declaration 
doubly binding. 

" I solemnly \-ow th;it 1 will ne\cr reveal 
the secret Thomas Paulding is now about to 
confide to me," said Harry Zachary, stiffening 
his usual timid voice. "In China they cut off a 
chicken's head whenever a man takes an oath 
before a priest, and that makes it binding, 1 
reckon. 1 wish we had a chicken here." 

'• I guess the priests in China are as fond of 
chicken as anybody else," Cissy commented. 
" Now, Tom, tell us the whole story. " 

So Tom began at the beginning, and gave 
them all the particulars of his search for the 
stolen guineas, of the suggestion Santa Claus 
brought, of the stepping-stones, and of the pres- 
ent situation of the buried treasure. 

" That 's all very well, " said Cissy. " Per- 
haps the money is there, and perhaps it is n't. 
How are you to get at it ? That 's the question." 

Then Tom told them about hydraulic mining, 
explaining briefly to them what he himself had 
extracted laboriously from many books. He 
informed them that his uncle was going to ar- 
range for a supply of water, and that Decoration 
Day had been chosen as the date when the final 
attack was to be made. 

When Tom had finished, Cissy said, " Well, 
that 's a very interesting story, and, as I told you 
before, maybe the money is there. Leastways, 
it 's worth trying for. I don't see where your 
uncle is going to get the stream of water — but 
your uncle is n't any fool, so I guess he knows. 
And I don't see either where we come in — 
Harry and I. What are we to do ? " 

" I don't know just what you will have to 
do, " Tom replied. " But Uncle Dick said to 
ask you and Harry if you would help us. " 

" Oh, yes," Cissy responded heartily. " I '11 
help all I know how." 

After a litdc further talk the boys started 
homeward, Cissy lurching along w ith his usual 
rolling gait. 

" There 's the Old Gentleman who leaned over 
the Wall," said Tom, as they saw a tall, white- 
haired man get out of a carriage before a hand- 
some house. 


"liial 's Mr. Joshua llofi'mann," explained 
Harry Zachary. " He 's so rich he has more 
money than he knows what to do with." 

" And my father says there is n't a better man 
in tiie United States, in spite of all his money, " 
said Cissy. 

" My uncle knows him, too," Tom remarked, 
unwilling to be left out of the conversation. 

'• Is n't that your uncle now ? " asked Harry. 

Tom looked across the roadway and saw his 
uncle stop before the house; and again the old 
gentleman leaned over the wall to talk to him. 

" Yes," said Tom, " that 's Uncle Dick." 

•^s the boys went by Mr. Rapallo waved his 
hand to them ; and when Tom glanced back a 
minute later it seemed as if his uncle were talking 
about him to the Old Gendeman who leaned 
over the Wall, for the two men were both look- 
ing after the three boys. 

The next day, at school, Corkscrew came u|) 
to Tom as Cissy and Harry had just joined 

" Did you three have a nice ride on the 
railroad, yesterday afternoon ? " asked Lott, in- 

" I was n't on the cars at all yesterday," said 
Harry Zachary promptly, with a grave face. 

" Neither was I," continued Tom Paulding. 

" Nor I," added Cissy Smith. 

" I mean the elevated railroad," Corkscrew 

■' I did n't ride on the elevated railroad yes- 
terday," Harry declared. 

" I did n't, either," rejieated both Tom and 

"Why, I saw you — " began Lott. 

" Oh," said Tom Paulding, " if you know 
what we 've been doing better than we do 
ourselves, why do you ask questions ? " 

Corkscrew was a little confused at this. " I 
happened to be passing the station yesterday," 
he said, pulling up the tops of his high boots, 
" and 1 saw you three go up — " 

" If you saw us, then we 've nothing to say," 
Tom interrupted. " But I can tell you that we 
were none of us in an elevated train yesterday." 

"Then why on earth did you — " 

But what Cork.screw was going to ask they 
never knew, as just then the bell rang for school. 

( To fir co/i/wutt/. ) 




Bv Kate Rohker Cain. 

1 '\K a littlf brown cricket. And oli ! liou lie sings, 
Vou M liardly believe it — he sings with his wings. 
My waste-pa])er basket he seems to have found 
As much to his ta^te as a hole in the ground. 

Kings had their court jesters 
To fill them with glee — 
My little brown cricket 's 
The jester for me ! 


5v Laura E. Richards. 

[Begun in l/u- January nunilvr.\ 

Chapter VIII. 

OUR teachers. 

I DO not know why we had so many teachers. 
No doubt it was partly because we were very 
troublesome children. But I think it was also 
partly owing to the fact that our father was con- 
stantly overrun by needy foreigners seeking em- 
ployment. He was a philanthropist ; he had 
been abroad, and spoke foreign languages. That 
was enough! His office was besieged by "all 
peoples, nations, and languages," — all, as a rule, 
hungry. Greeks, Germans, Poles, Hungarians, 
occasionally a Frenchman or an Englishman, 
though these last were rare. Many of them 
were political exiles. Sometimes they brought 
letters from friends in Europe, sometimes not. 

Our father's heart never failed to respond 
to any appeal of this kind, when the applicant 
really wanted work ; for sturdy beggars he had 
no mercy. So it sometimes happened that, while 
waiting for something else to turn up, the exile 
of the day would be set to teaching us, partly 
to give him employment, partly also by way of 
finding out what he knew and was fit for. In 
this way did Professor Feaster (this may not be 
the correct spelling, but it was our way, and 
suited him well) came to be our tutor for a time. 
He was a very stout man, so stout that we consid- 
ered him a second Daniel Lambert. He may 
have been an excellent teacher, but almost my 
only recollection of him is that he made the 
most enchanting little paper houses, with green 
doors and blinds that opened and shut. He 
painted the inside of the houses in some myste- 



rioiis way, — at least there were patterns on tlie 
floor, like mosaic-work, — and the only draw- 
back to our perfect happiness on receiving one 
of them was that we were too big to get inside. 
I say this is almost my only recollection of 
this worthy man; but candor compels me to 
add that the other picture which his name 
conjures up is of Harry and Laura marching 
round the dining-room table, each shouldering 
a log of wood, and shouting, 

" We Ml kill old Feaster ! 
We 'II kill old Feaster! " 

This was very naughty indeed, but, a.s I ha\ e 
said before, we were often naughty. One thing 
more I do recollect about poor Professor Feas- 
ter. Flossy was at once his delight and his ter- 
ror. She was so bright, so original, so — alas ! so 
impish. She used to climb up on his back, lean 
over his shoulder, and pull out his watch to see 
if the lesson hour were over. To be sure, she 
was only eight at this time, and possibly the 
scenes from " Wilhelm Tell " which he loved to 
declaim with reimblican fervor may have been 
rather beyond her infant comprehension. 

One day Flossy made up her mind that the 
Professor should take her way about something 
— I quite forget what — rather than his own. 
She set herself deliberately against him, — three 
feet to six ! — and declared that he should do as 
she said. The poor Professor looked down on 
this fiery pygmy with eyes that sparkled through 
his gold-bowed spectacles. " I haf refused," he 
cried in desperation, " to opey ze Emperor of 
Austria, meess ! Do you sink I will opey you ? " 

Then there was Madame M , a Danish 

lady, very worthy, very accomplished, and — 
ugly enough to frighten all knowledge out of a 
child's head. She was my childish ideal of jier- 
sonal uncomeliness, yet she was most good and 

I must not forget to say that before she be- 
gan to teach she had wished to become a lec- 
turer. She had a lecture all ready; it began 
with a poetical outburst, as follows : 

I am a Dane ! I am a Dane ! 

I am not ashamed of the royal name ! 

But we never heard of its being delivered. I 

find this mention of Madame M in a letter 

from our mother to her sister : 

Danisli woman very ui;ly, 

But remarkably instructive. 

Drawing, painting, French and (Jcrman, 

Fancy work of all descriptions, 

With geograpliy and grammar. 

She will teach for very little, 

And is a superior jierson. 

I remember some of the fancy work. There 
were pink-worsted roses, very wonderful, really 
not at all like the common roses one sees in 
gardens. You wound the worsted round and 
round, spirally, and then you ran your nee- 
tlie down through the petal and pulled it a 
little; this, as any person of intelligence will 
readily perceive, made a rose-petal with a dent 
of the proper shape in it. These petals had to 
be pressed in a book to keep them flat while 
others were making. Sometimes, years and 
years after, one would find two or three of 
them between the leaves of an old volume 
of Punch, or some other book; and instantly 
would rise up before the mind's eye the figure 
of Madame M , with scarlet face and dark- 
green dress, and a very remarkable nose. 

Flossy reminds me that she always smelt of 
peppermint. So she did, poor lady! and proba- 
bly took it for its medicinal pro[)erties. 

Then there was the wax fruit ! Yoti young 
people of sophisticated To-day, who make such 
things of real beauty with your skilful, kindergar- 
ten-trained fingers, what would you say to the 
wax fruit and flowers of our childhood ? Per- 
haps you would like to know how to make them. 
We bought wax at the apothecary's, white 
wax, in round flat cakes, pleasant to nibble, 
and altogether gratifying. Wax, and chrome- 
yellow and carmine, the colors in powder. \Ve 
put the wax in a pipkin (I always say pipkin 
when I have a chance, because it is such a 
charming word, but if my readers prefer sauce- 
pan, let them have it, by all means!) — we put 
it, I say, in a pipkin, and melted it. For a 
pleasure wholly without alloy, I can recommend 
the poking and punching of half-melted wax. 
I'hen, when it was ready, we stirred in the 
yellow powder, which produced a fine Bartlett 
color. Then we poured the mixture — oh, 
joy! — into the two pear- or peach-shaped halves 
of the plaster mold, and clapped them toge- 
ther ; and when the pear or peach was cool 



and dry, we took a camel's-hair brush ami 
painted a carmine cheek on one side. I do not 
say that this was art, or advancement of culture; 
I do not say that its results were anything but 
hideous and abnormal ; but I do maintain that 
it was a delightful and enchanting amusement. 
And if there were a point of rapture beyond 
this, it was the coloring of melted wax to a 
delicate rose-hue, and dipping into it a dear 
litde spaddle (which, be it explained to the 
ignorant, is a flat disk with a handle to it), and 
taking out liquid rose-petals, which hardened 
in a few minutes and were rolled delicately off 
with the finger. When one had enough (say, 
rather, when one could tear oneself away 
from the magic pipkin), one ]jut the petals 
together, and there you had a rose that was 
like nothing upon earth. 

After all, were wax flowers so much more 
hideous, I wonder, than some things one sees 
to-day ? Why is it that such a stigma attaches 
to the very name of them ? Why do not people 
go any longer to see the wax figures in the Bos- 
ton Museum ? Perhaps they are not there 
now; perhaps they are grown forlorn and dilap- 
idated — indeed, they never were very splen- 
did ! — and have been hustled away into some 
dim lumber-room, from whose corners they 
glare out at some errant call-boy of the theater, 
and frighten him into fits. Daniel Lambert, 
in scarlet waistcoat and knee-breeches ! the 
" Drunkard's Career," the bare recollection of 
which brings a thrill of horror! — there was one 
child at least who regarded you as miracles 
of art. 

Speaking of wax reminds me of Monsieur 

N , who gave us, I am inclined to think, our 

first French lessons, besides those we received 
from our mother. He was a very French French- 
man, with blond mustache and imperial waxed 
h. la Louis Napoleon, and a military carriage. 
He had been a soldier, and taught fencing as 
well as French, though not to us. This unhappy 
gentleman had married a Smymiot woman, 
out of gratitude to her family, who had rescued 
him from some pressing danger. Apparently 
he did them a great service by marrying the 
young woman and taking her away, for she 
had a violent temper — was, in short, a perfect 
vixen. The evils of this were perhaps lessened 


by the fact that she could not speak French, 
while her husband had no knowledge of her 
native Greek. It is the simple truth that this 
singular couple, in their disputes, which unfor- 
tunately were many, used often to come and ask 
our father to act as interpreter between them. 

Monsieur N himself was a kind man, and a 

very good teacher. 

There is a tale told of a christening feast 
which he gave in honor of Candide, his eld- 
est child. Julia and Flossy were invited, and 
the governess of the time, whoever she was. 
The company went in two hacks to the priest's 
house, where the ceremony was to be per- 
formed ; on the way the rival hackmen fell out, 
and jeered at each other, and, whipping up 
their lean horses, made frantic efforts each to 
obtain the front rank in the small cortege. 

Whereupon Monsieur N , very angry at this 

infringement of the dignity of the occasion, 
thrust his head out of the window and shrieked 
to his hackmen : 

" Firts or sekind, vich you bleece ! " whicli 
delighted the children more than any other 
part of the entertainment. 

There was poor Miss R , whom I re- 
call with mingled dislike and compassion. She 
must have been very young, and she had about 
as much idea of managing children (we required 
a great deal of managing) as a tree might 
have. Her own idea of discipline was to give 
us " misdemeanors," which in ordinary speech 
were " black marks." What is it I hear her say 
in the monotonous singsong voice which al- 
ways exasperated us ? — " Doctor, Laura has 
had fourteen misdemeanors ! " Then Laura 
was put to bed, no doubt very properly; but 
she has always felt that she need not have 
had the " misdemeanors," if the teaching had 

been a little different. Miss R it was who 

took away the glass eye-cup; therefore I am 
aware that I cannot think of her with clear 
and unprejudiced mind. But she must have 
had sair times with us, poor thing ! I can dis- 
tinctly remember Flossy urging Harry, with 
fiery zeal, not to recite his geography les- 
son, — I cannot imagine why. Miss R 

often rocked in the junk with us. That reminds 
me that I promised to describe the junk. But 
how shall I picture that perennial fount of 

\Vlli;.\ 1 WAS YOUR AGE. 

joy? It was croscent-sliapcil, or ratlicr it was 
like a longitiulinal slice cut out of a water- 
melon. Magnify the slice a hundred-fold ; 
put seats up and down the sides, with iron 
bars in front to hold on by ; set it on two 
grooved rails and paint it red — there you have 
the junk ! Nay ! you have it not entire, for it 
should be filled with rosy, shouting children, 
standing or sitting, holding on by the bars and 
rocking with might and main. 

Vo-ho I Here we go! 

Up and down ! Heigh-ho ! 

\\'hy are there no junks nowadays ? Surely it 
would be better for us, body and mind, if 
there were ; for, as for the one, the rocking 
exercised every muscle in the whole bodily 
frame, and as for the other, black Care could 
not enter the junk, — at least he did not, — nor 
weariness, nor " shadow of annoyance." There 
ought to be a junk on Boston Common, free 
to all, and half a dozen in Central Park ; and 
I hope every young person who reads these 
words will suggest this device to his parents 
or guardians. 

But teaching is not entirely confined to the 
archery practice of the young idea ; and any 
account of our teachers would be incomplete 
without mention of our dancing-master — of 
the dancing-master, for there w^as but one. 
You remember that the dandy in Puttch, be- 
ing asked of whom he buys his hats, replies, 
" Scott. Is there another fellah ? " Even so it 
would be difficult for the Boston generation 
of middle or elder life to acknowledge that 
there could have been " another fellah " to 
teach dancing besides Lorenzo Papanti. Who 
does not remember — nay! who could ever 
forget — that tall, graceful figure, that marvel- 
ous elastic glide, like a wave flowing over 
glass ? Who could ever forget the shrewd, 
kindly smile when he was pleased, the keen 
lightning of his glance when angered ? What 
if he did rap our toes sometimes, till the tim- 
orous wept, and those of stouter heart flushed 
scarlet, and clenched their small hands, and 
inly vowed revenge ? 

No doubt we richly deserved it, and it did 
us good. 

If I were to hear a certain strain plaved in the 


Desert of Sahara, or on the i)lains of Idaho, 
1 should instantly " forward and back and 
cross over"; and so, I warrant, would most 
of my generation of Boston people. There is 
one grave and courteous gentleman of my ac- 
quaintance, whom to see dance the shawl- 
dance with his fairy sister was a dream of 
poetry. As for the gavotte — O beautiful 
.■\my ! C) lovely Alice ! I see you now, with 
your short silken skirts floating out to e.xtreme 
limit of crinoline; with your fair locks con- 
fined by the discreet net, sometimes of brown 
or scarlet chenille, sometimes of finest silk ; 
with snowy stockings, and slippers fastened by 
elastic bands crossed over the foot and behind 
the ankle; with arms and neck bare. If your 
daughters, to-day, chance upon a photograiih 
of you taken in those days, they laugh, and ask 
mama how she could wear such queer things, 
and make such a fright of herself; but I re- 
member how lovely you were, and how per- 
fectly you always dressed, and with what 
exquisite grace you danced the gavotte. 

So, I think, we all who jumped and changed 
our feet, who pirouetted and chasseed under Mr. 
Papanti, owe him a debt of gratitude ; his hall 
was a paradise, the stiff little dressing-room, with 
its rows of shoe-boxes, the antechamber of de- 
light. And thereby hangs a tale. The child 
Laura grew up, and married one who had 
jumped and changed his feet beside her at 
Papanti's, and they two went to Europe and 
saw many strange lands and things. And it fell 
upon a time that they were storm-bound, in a 
little wretch of a grimy steamer, in the Gulf of 
Corinth. \\\\\\ them was a traveling compan- 
iofi, who also had had the luck to be born in 
Boston, and to go to dancing-school ; the other 
passengers were a Greek, an Italian, and — I 
think the third was a German, but, as he was 
seasick, it made no difference. Three days 
were we shut up there while the storm raged 
and bellowed, and right thankful we were for 
the snug little harbor which stretched its pro- 
tecting arms between us and the white churning 
waste of billows outside the bar. 

We played games to make the time pass ; we 
talked endlessly, and in the course of talk it 
naturally came to pass that we told of our 
adventures, and where we came from, and, in 


short, will) uc WL-iu. The (jrcck gentlcm;in 
turned out to lie an old acquaintance of my 
father's, and was greatly overjoyed to see me, 
and told me many interesting things about the 
old fighting-days of the Revolution. 'I'he Ital- 
ian spoke little during this conversation, but 
when he heard the word " Boston " he pri( ked 
up his ears; and when a pause came he asked 
if we came from Boston. "Yes," we all an- 
swered, with the inward satisfaction which every 
Bostonian feels at being able to make the repl)'. 
And liad we ever heard, in Boston, he went on 
to inquire, of " un certo Papanti, maestro di 
ballo " ? " Heard of hiin ? " cried the three 
dancing-school children. " We never heard of 
any one else!" Thereupon ensued much de- 
lighted questioning and counter-questioning. 

(To tec, 


This gentleman came from l,egh(jrn, Mr. Pa- 
panti's native city. He knew his family ; they 
were excellent people. Lorenzo himself he had 
never seen, as he left Italy so many years ago. 
But reports had reached Leghorn that he was 
very successful ; that he taught the best peo]jle 
(() Beacon street! O purple windows and 
1 irown-stone fronts, I should think so I) ; that he 
had invented " un piano sopra moUe," a floor 
on springs. Was this true ? Whereupon we 
took up our parable, and unfolded to the Li- 
vornese mind the glory of Papanti, till he 
fairly glowed with pride in his famous fellow- 

And, finally, was not tliat a pleasant little 
episode, in a storm-bound steamer in the Gulf 
of Corinth ? 

By Jack Bennett. 

In a hall of strange description, antiquarian F".gyptian, 

Working on his monthly balance-sheet, the troubled monarch sat. 
With a frown upon his forehead, hurling interjections horrid 

At the state of his finances, for his pocket-book was flat. 
Not a solitary, single copper cent had he to jingle 

In his pocket; while his architects had gone off on a strike, 
i.eaxing pyramids unfinished, as their salaries diminished. 

And their credit vanishetl likewise in a way they tliil not like. 


It was harder lor His Royal Highness than for sons of toil, 
For the horny-handed workmen only ate two figs per day ; 
While the king liked sweet potatoes, puddings, pies, and canned tomatoes, 

Boneless ham and Blue Point oysters, cooked some prehistoric way. 
Men sing small on economics when it comes to empty stomachs. 
And Egyptian kings are molded just the ordinary size; 

So with appetite unwonted old Rameses groaned and grunted, 
\,^ As he longed for twisted doughnuts, ginger-cakes, and ap- 


While he growled, the royal grumbler spied a liit of liroken 
In a long undusted comer, just behind the palace door. 
\Viien his hungry optics spied it he stood silently and eyed it ; 
Then he smote his thigh in ecstasy and danced about the 
r.y the wit Osiris gave me, this same bit of glass shall save 
I will sell it for a diamond at some stupendous price. 
And whoe'er I ask to take it will find, for his own sweet 
sake, it 
Will be better not to wait until I have to ask him twice ! " 

Then a royal proclamation was despatched throughout the nation. 

Most imperatively calling to appear before the king. 
Under penalties most cruel, every man who bought a jewel. 

Or who sold or bartered precious stones, and all that sort of thine 
Thereupon the traders' nether joints quaked and knocked together ; 

For they thought they smelled a rodent on the sultry desert air. 
It was ever their misfortune to be pillaged by extortion ; 

So they packed their Saratogas in lugubrious despair. 

When they faced the great propylon, with an 
apprehensive smile on, 
Sculptured there, in hieroglyphics two feel 
wide and three feet high, 
Was the threat of King Rameses to choj) 
every man to pieces 
If, when shown the royal diamond, they 
dared refuse to buy. 
I'ale but calm, the dealer, Muley Hassan, eye< 
the gem and coolly 
Cried, " The thing is but a common tumbler 
bottom ; nothing more ! " 
Whereupon the king's assassin drew his sword 
and Muley Hassan 
Never peddled rings again along the NileV 
primeval shore. 


'I'licn Abd-Alhih Abd-El-Mahdi faintly said the stone was shoddy, 

But he thought upon a pinch he might bid fifty cents himself 
There ensued a slight commotion ere he could repent the notion ; 

And Abd-Allah was promoted to the Oriental shelf 
Every heart was wildly quaking ; every knee was feebly shaking ; 

It was poverty or death before them all they plainly saw. 
When the king played judge and jury, never man escaped his fury, 

For his rulings were despotic and his lightest word was law. 

When they saw how things resulted, all the jewelers consulted 

On some plan to save their lives, before they dared to dine or sup, — 
Dashing off on flying journeys to consult the best attorneys 

Who referred to their authorities, and had to give it up ! 
Quite exciting was the writing, the inditing, and the skiting 

Through the valleys of the Tigris, the Euphrates, and the Nile; 
But, in spite of all their seeking, not a hole appeared for sneaking 

Safely out of the predicament which deepened all the while. 

Through it all with visage jolly, by the palace gate Ben Ali 
Sat, without a dollar to his name, and nothing else to do. 
Though his clothes were old and holey, he was sleek and roly-poly ; 

So he sat and smiled in silence at the many things he knew. 
Suddenly a bright idea struck him: Why could he not be a 

Champion of all these jewelers and save them from their fate ? 
He had not spent days compiling abstruse problems on the tiling 
Of the vestibule for nothing, so he did not hesitate, 

But with confidence suggested if their cause in him were 
He could extricate them safely ere a dog could wag its 
tail ; 

And, although he seemed ijuite youthful, they would find his statement truthful. 
For witliin his little lexicon was no such word as " fail." 



Ihnv Ihey crowded im llir lialustradc ihat ran 

around the palace, 
When Ben Ali was bclorc His Royal Majesty 

the King ! 
Anil when Ali rose to meet him, how the cheers 

burst forth to greet him — 
•' Sail in, Benny ! " " You 're the 

boy!" — until they made the 

welkin rinir! 

J? f^ 

■ It would be the sheerest folly, great Rameses," said Ben Ali, 
•• To pretend to buy the finest precious stone upon the earth 
Without going at it coolly, and approximating duly, 

Without fear and without favor, its indubitable worth. 
I confess, and likewise shall you, that this stone's intrinsic value 

Is but nothing — while the estimate that Muley Hassan gave 
Adds another nothing to it — for it 's glass, and Muley knew it ! '" 

So he chalked another cipher with a graceful Delsarte wave. 

If I understand your theses, most adorable Rameses, 

You must part with this great diamond to raise a little gold ; 

Yet, although you wish to sell it, — you '11 forgive me if I tell it, — 
Its true worth increases naught on that account, when all is told." 

So he pointed to his writing and went calmly on reciting, 

" Nothing added to a nothing surely makes it nothing more; 

And the value I have thought on simply puts another naught on 
To the aggregated estimate, increasing it to four : 


Now it seems to 


Now it seems to me to follow that the sum bid l)y Abd-AUah — 
Which was fifty, if I recollect the circum- 
-stance aright — 
Should be likewise added to it ; so, just by 
your leave, I '11 do it. 
Making full five hundred thousand in a 
fair, unbiased light. 
Sire, I trust my computation suits your royal 
As I wish to buy the gem that you are 
offering for sale. 
I am sent with that intention by the Jewelers' 
And I lose my whole commission if my 
proposition fail." 



(lloaling on the |)romiscil treasure, Kinj; Rameses beamed with pleasure. 
And, arising, said he thought five hundred thousand just the dot; 

Yet, although he quite believed him, still men had before deceived him, 
So he felt constrained to ask entire payment on the spot. 

Very well," said Ben ; " but scholars would allow at least five dollars 
As a discount from the whole amount that I have been assessed." 

I agree," the king said, smiling in a manner quite beguiling, 

" You may discount five for cash in hand, and then produce the rest." 

In a hurry King Rameses signed them all complete releases 
And receipts in full for every responsibility ; 

And, as soon as that was 
done, he asked Ben 
Ali for the money; 
Whereupon Ben Ali rose 


ami said with great civility, 
■ That we may not make a miscount. I will first subtract my 
Then he took his hemstitched handkerchief and rubhed the 
five away. 
" Now I 'm ready to obey you, and am iiuite 
prepared to pay you 
The remainder as it stands — for there is 
nothing left to pay ! " 

King Rameses tore his raiment at such visionary payment. 

Seeing how the wool was pulled across his mercenary e\'es ; 
But his claims were all receipted, and his wicked aims defeated ; 

So he 'd have to whet his appetite on atmospheric pies. 
Then like some volcanic spasm burst the crowd's enthusiasm, 

Making Ali rich with presents in the rapture that ensued : 
While a very ancient carving represents the king as starving — - 

Rut it 's likely that the neighbors sent him in some sort of food. 


By Charles 1*". I.umimis. 

\Begun in tht December Humh,r\ iiotliiiig l)o\vl-likc ill its appearance, evcii as 

,„ one sees down thousands of feet into it from 

tiie commanding "Rim" of the Mogollones. 

Far southwest of Moqui, an<l still in the edge It is rather a vast chaos of crags and peaks 
of the great Dry Land, is what I am inclined apparently rolled into it from the great break- 
to rank as the most remarkable area of its ing-off place — the wreck left by forgotten wa- 
kind in the Southwest — though in this won- ters of what was once part of the Mogollon 
derland it is difficult enough to award that pre plateau. 

eminence to any one locality. At least in its About this 'I'onto Basin, whii li is some fifty 

combination of archabologic interest with scenic miles across, cluster many of the least-known 

beauty and with some i)eerless natural curiosi- yet greatest wonders of our country. South 

ties, what may be called the Mogollon watershed are the noble ruins of Casa Grande, and all the 

is the one of most startling regions in America or Gila Valley's precious relics of the prehistoric, 

in the world. The Salt River Valley is one of the richest of 

The Mogollones * are not a mountain system fields for archa^ologic research ; and the country 
as Eastern people understand the phrase. There of the Verde is nowise behind it. All across 
is no great range, as among the Appalachians that strange area of forbidding wildernesses, 
and the Rockies. The " system " is merely an threaded with small valleys that are green with 
enormous plateau, full three hundred miles the outposts of civilization, are strewn the gray 
across, and of an average height above the sea monuments of a civifization that had worn out 
greater than that of any peak in the East : an antiquity, and had perished and been forgotten, 
apparently boundless plain, dotted only here before ever a Caucasian foot had touched the 
and therewith its few lonely " hangers-on " or New World. The heirlooms of an unknown 
'• parasites" of peaks, — like the noble San Fran- past are everywhere. No man has ever counted 
cisco triad near Flagstaff", — which in that vast the crumbling ruins of all strange little 
expanse seem scarce to attain to the dignity of stone cities whose history and whose very 
mounds. On the north this huge table-land names have gone from oft" the face of the 
melts into hazy slopes; but all along its southern earth as if they had never been. Along every 
edge it breaks off by sudden and fearful clifi"s stream, near every spring, on lofty lookout- 
into a country of indescribable wildness. This crags, and in the faces of savage cliffs, are the 
great territory to the south, an empire in size, long-deserted homes of that mysterious race — 
but largely desert and almost entirely, mysterious even now that we know their de- 
has nevertheless the largest number of con.sider- scendants. Thousands of these homes are per- 
able streams of any equal area in the thirsty feet yet, thousands no more changed from the 
Southwest. The Gila, the Rio Salado, + the far, dim days when their swart dwellers lived 
Rio Verde, and others — though they would be and loved and suffered and toiled there, than 
petty in the East, and though they are small by the gathered dust of ages. Very, very few 
beside the Rio Grande and the Colorado — Americans have ever at all explored this Last 
form, with their tributaries, a more extensive Place in the WorlcJ. It has not been a score of 
water-system than is to be found elsewhere in years known to our civilization. There is hardly 
our arid lands. The Tonto | Basin — scene of ever a traveler to those remote recesses; and 
one of the brave Crook's most brilliant cam- of the Americans who are settling the jiretty 
paigns against the Apaches — is part of this oases, a large proportion have never seen the 
wilderness. Though called a " basin," there is wonders within a few leagues of them. It is a 
" Spanish, " The hangers-on." t " Sah River," a fine stream whose waters are re-illy salt. 
{"Tonto" is Spanish for fool. 


far, toilsome land to reach ; and yet there is no 
reason why any young American of average 
health should not visit this wonderland — which 
is as much more thrilling than any popular 
American resort as the White Mountains are 
more thrilling than Coney Island on a quiet day. 

The way to reach this strangely fascinating 
region is by the Atlantic and Pacific railroad to 
Prescott Junction, Arizona, four hundred and 
twenty-eight miles west of Albuquerque. Thence 
a little railroad covers the seventy miles to Pres- 
cott ; and from Prescott one goes by the mail- 
buckboard or by private conveyance to Camp 
Verde, forty-three miles. Camp Verde is the 
best headquarters for any who would explore 
the marvelous country about it. Comfortable 
accommodations are there; and there can be 
jirocured the needful horses — for thencefor- 
ward horseback travel is far preferable, even 
when not absolutely necessary. There is no 
danger whatever nowadays. The few settlers are 
intelHgent, law-abiding people, among whom 
the traveler fares very comfortably. 

The Verde * Valley is itself full of interest ; 
and so are all its half-valley, half-canon tributa- 
ries — Oak Creek, Beaver Creek, Clear Creek, 
Fossil Creek, and the rest. Away to the north, 
over the purple rim-rock of the Mogollones, 
peer the white peaks of the San Francisco 
range (one can also come to the Verde from 
Flagstaff, by a rough but interesting eighty- 
mile ride overland). All about the valley are 
mesas,f and cliffs so tall, so strange in form and 
color, so rent by shadowy canons as to seem 
fairly unearthly. And follow whatever canon 

* Rio Verde, "Cireen River,"— so called fiom the vei 
surroundings. t Talile-lands. 

}The war-cliief of an ancient league of Mexican I 
historians assert. 

or clifif you will, you shall find everywhere more 
of these strange ruins. They are so many 
hundreds, that while all are of deep interest I 
can here describe only the more striking types. 

Beaver Creek enters the Rio Verde about a 
mile above the now-abandoned fort. Its canon 
is by no means a large one, though it has some 
fine points. A long and rocky twelve miles up 
Beaver, past smiling little farms of to-day that 
have usurped the very soil of fields whose 
tilling had been forgotten when history was 
new, brings one to a wonder which is not " the 
greatest of its kind," but the otily. There is, I 
believe, nothing else like it in the world. 

It has been named — by the class which has 
pitted the Southwest with misnomers — 

" Montezuma's well." 

It is hardly a well, — 
though an exact term is 
difficult to find, — and 
Montezuma \ never had 
anything to do with it; 
•i^'-^-^^^^ but it is none the less 
ff--^ ^ /jr wonderful under its misfit 
name. There is a legend 
(of late invention) that Mon- 
tezuma, after being conquered 
b\- Cortez, threw his incalculable treasure into 
this safest of hiding-places; but that is all a 
myth, since Montezuma had no treasures, and 
in any event could hardly have brought the 
fabled tons of gold across two thousand miles 
of desert to this " well," even if he had ever 
stirred outside the pueblo of Mexico after the 

:lure of its v.illey, wliicli is in such conlra^l with its weird 
ndians, an.l iiH " F.inperor of Mexico," as ill-informed 

shivering up from its unknown depths. 

The waters do not lave the foot of a perpen- 
dicular cliff all around the sides of that fantastic 
well. The unfathomed " slump " is in the center, 
anil is separated from the visible walls by a nar- 
row, submerged rim. One can wade out a few 


Spaniards came — as he never did. But as credil)le. Toss a large stone into that midnight 
one looks into this awesome abyss, it is mirror, and for an hour the bubbles will struggle 
easy to forget history and believe anything. 

-At this point, Beaver Creek has eaten away 
the side of a rounded hill of stone which rises 
more than one hundred feet above it, and 
now washes the foot of a sheer cliff of striking 
picturesqueness. I can half imagine the feel- 
ings of the first white man wdio ever climbed feet in knee-deep water, — if one have the cour- 
that hill. Its outer show gives no greater prom- age in that "creepy" place, — and then, sud- 
ise of interest than do ten thousand other ele- denly as walking from a parapet, step off into 
vations in the Southwest; but as one reaches the bottomless. Between this w.nter-covcrcd 
a flat shoulder of the hill, one 

gets a first glimpse of a dark rift IjflT s"-'^ , ^«^ ^^.p^j^i'toS^^- *-'''• jv»ae-~^ 
in the floor-like rock, and in a ' 1- .^-.-j;,^ ^, 

moment more stands upon the "^ ' '"^' 

brink of an absolutely new ex- 
perience. There is a vast, sheer 
well, apparently as circular as 
that peculiar rock could be 
broken by design, with sides 
of cliffs, and with a gloom\-, 
mysterious lake at the bottom. 
The diameter of this basin a]} 
proximates two hundred yards ; 
and its depth from brink of cliff 
to surface of water is some 
eighty feet. One does not 
realize the distance across until 
a powerful thrower tries to hurl 
a pebble to the farther wall. I 
believe that no one has suc- 
ceeded in throwing past the 
middle of the lake. At first 

sight one invariably takes this . 

remarkable cavity to be the 
crater of an extinct volcano, 

, . , „ _. , . , MONTEZUMA'S WELL. 

like that m the Zuni plams al- 
ready referred to; but a study of the unburnt rim and the foot of the cliff is, in most places, a 
limestone makes one give up that theory. The wild jumble of enormous square blocks, fallen 
well is a huge " sink " of the horizontal strata successively from the precipices and lodged 
in one particular undermined spot, the loosened here before they could tumble into the lower 
circle of rock dropping forever from sight into depths. 

a terrible subterranean abyss which was doubt- There are two places where the cliff can be 

less hollowed out by the action of springs far descended from top to water's edge. Elsewhere 

down in the lime-rock. As to the depth of that it is inaccessible. Its dark, stained face, split by 

gruesome, black lake, there is not yet knowledge, peculiar cleavage into the semblance of giant 

I am assured that a sounding-line has been sent walls, frowns down upon its frowning image in 

down three hundred and eighty feet, in a vain that dark mirror. The whole scene is one of 

attempt to find bottom ; and that is easily utter grimness. I^ven the eternal blue of an 




Arizona sky, even the rare fleecy clouds, seem 
mocked and changed in that deep reflection. 

Walking nroiind ihc fissured lirink of the 
well eastward, ue liecnmc suddenly auare ol a 
new interest — tlie [ireseme of a human Past. 
Next the creek, the side of the well is nearly 
gone. Only a narrow, high wall of rock, per- 
haps one himdred feet through at the base, less 
than a score al ihe tci|i, niuains to keej) the well 

and three stories. It was a |)erfect defense to 
the Indians who eri( ted it; and was not only 
safe itself (jn that commanding perch, Init 
protected the approach to the well. This is 
the only town I know of that was ever buihled 
upon a natural bridge; as some houses in this 
same region are probably the only ones placed 
under such a curiosity. 

Leading from the i enter of this foil house, llie 

a well. On one side of this thin rim gapes the 
abyss of the well ; on the other the abyss to 
the creek. Upon this wall — leaving scarce 
room to step between them and the brink of the 
well, and precariously clinging down the steep 
.slope to the edge of the cliff that overhangs the 
creek — are the tousled ruins of a strong stone 
building of many rooms, the typical fort-home 
of the ancient Pueblos. Its walls are still, in 
])laces, six to eight feet high ; and the student 
clearly makes out that the building was of two 

only easy trail descends into the well ; and // is 
so steep that no foe could prosper on it in the 
face of any opposition. This brings us to a tiny 
green bench six or eight feet above the level of 
the dark lake, where two young sycamores and 
a few live-oak bushes guard a black cavity in 
the overhanging cliff". We look across the dark 
waters to the western w^all, and are .startled to 
see in its face a perfect clifl-house, perched 
where the eagle might build his nest. A strange 
aery for a home, surely ! There, on a ili/.zy 



little shelf, overhung by a huge flat rock which 
roofs it, stands this two-roomed type of the hu- 
man dwelling in the old danger-days. From 
its window-hole a babe might lean out until he 
saw his dimpled image in the somber sheet be- 
low. Only at one end of the house, where a 
difficult trail comes up, is there room on the 
shelf for a dozen men to stand. In front, and 
at its north end, a goat could scarce find foot- 
ing. The roof and floor and rear wall are 
of the solid clift", the other three walls of stone 
masonry, perfect and unbroken still. A few 
rods along the face of the rock to the north is 
another cMft-dwelling not so large nor so well 
preserved; and farther yet is another. It is 
fairly appalling to look at those dizzy nests and 
remember that they were homes : \Vhat eagle- 
race was this whose warriors strung their bows, 
and whose women wove their neat cotton tunics, 
and whose naked babes rolled and laughed in 
such wild lookouts — the scowling cliff" above, 
the deadly lake so far below ! Or, rather, what 
grim times were those when farmers had to 
dwell thus to escape the cruel obsidian knife* 
and war-club of the merciless w^andering savage ! 
But if we turn to the sycamore at our back, 
there is yet more of human interest. Behind 
the gray debris of the chff gapes the low-arched 
mouth of a broad cave. It is a weird place to 
enter, under tons that threaten to fall at a 
breath ; but there have been others here before 
us. As the eye grows wonted to the gloom, it 
makes out a flat surface beyond. There, forty 
feet back from the mouth, a strong stone wall 
stretches across the cave ; and about in its cen- 
ter is one of the tiny doors that were charac- 
teristic of the Southwest when a doorway big 
enough to let in a whole Apache at a time 
was unsafe. So the fort-house balanced on the 
clift-rim between two abysses and the houses 
nestled in crannies of the bald precipice were 
not enough — they must build far in the very 
caves ! That wall shuts off a large, low, dark 
room. Beyond is another, darker and safer, 
and so on. To our left is another wall in the 
front of another branch of the cave ; and in 
that wall is a little token from the dead past. 

1 89 1, my flash-light failed, and I lit a dry eit- 
ti-afia t to explore during the hour it would take 
the lens to study out part of the cave in that 
gloom. And suddenly the unaccustomed tears 
came in my eyes ; for on the flinty mortar of that 
strange wall was a print made when that mortar 
was fresh adobe mud, at least five hundred years 
ago, maybe several thousands, — the perfect im- 
print of a baby's chubby hand. And of that 
child, whose mud autograph has lasted perhaps 
as long as Cssar's fame, who may have wrought 
as deep impression on the history of his race as 
CjEsar on the world's, we know no more than 
that hand-print, nor ever shall know. 

This left-hand cave is particularly full of in- 
terest, and is probably the best remaining ex- 
ample of this class of home-making by the 
so-called " CHff-dwellers." With its numerous 
windings and branches, it is hundreds of feet in 
length; and its rooms, formed by cross-walls of 
masonry, extend far into the heart of the hill, 
and directly under the fort-house. It seems to 
have been fitted for the last retreat of the peo- 
ple in case the fortress and the cHff-houses were 
captured by an enemy. It was well stored with 
com, whose mummied cobs are still there; and — 
equally important — it had abundant water. The 
well seems to have no outlet — the only token 
of one visible from within being a little rift in the 
water-mosses just in front of the caves. But in 
fact there is a mysterious channel far down 
under the chft", whereby the waters of the lake 
escape to the creek. In exploring the main cave 
one hears the sound of running water, and pres- 
ently finds a place where one may dip a drink 
through a hole in the limestone floor of a sub- 
terranean room. The course of this lonely little 
brook can be traced for some distance through 
the cave, below whose floor it runs. Here and 
there in the rooms are lava hand-mills and bat- 
tered stone hammers, and other relics of the for- 
gotten people. 

Returning to the creek at the foot of the hill, 
and following the outer cliff up-stream a few 
hundred feet, we come to a very ])icturesque 
spot under a fine little precipice whose foot is 
guarded by stately .sycamores. Here is the out- 
let of the subterranean stream from the well. 

When I went there for St. Nicholas, in June, 

' The only knives in those days were sharp-edged flakes of obsidian (volcanic glass) and other stone. 
t The buckhorn-cactus, which was the prehistoric candle. 
Vol. XIX. — 45. 



From a little hole in the very base of the cliff 
the glad rivulet rolls out into the light of day, 
and tumbles heels over head down a little ledge 
to a pretty pool of the creek. 

The water of the well is always warmish, and 
in winter a little cloud of vapor hovers over 
the outlet. Between the cliff and the creek is 
pinched an irrigating-ditch, which carries the 
waters of the well half a mile south to irrigate the 
ranch of a small farmer. Probably no other man 
waters his garden from so strange a source. 

Somewhat more than half-way back from 
Montezuma's Well to Camp Verde, but off the 


"^^-j^-^iS^^ ' V. 



winding road, is another curiosity, only less im- 
portant, known as 

" Montezuma's castle." 

It is the best remaining specimen of what we 
may call the cave-pueblo — that is, a Pueblo 
Indian " community-house " and fortress, built 
in a natural cave. The oft-pictured ruins in 
the Mancos canon are insignificant beside it. 
Here the tiny valley of Beaver Creek is very 
attractive. The long slope from the south bank 
lets us look far up toward the black rim of the 
Mogollones, and across the smiling Verde Valley 
to the fine range beyond. On 
the north bank towers a noble 
limestone cliff, two hundred 
feet high, beautifully white and 
beautifully eroded. In its per- 
pendicular front, half-way up, is 
a huge, circular natural cavity, 
very much like a giant basin 
tilted on edge ; and therein 
stands the noble pile of " Mon- 
tezuma's Castle." A castle it 
truly looks, as you may see from 
the illustration — and a much 
finer ruin than many that people 
rush abroad to see, along the 
historic Rhine. The form of 
the successive limestone ledges 
upon which it is built led the 
aboriginal builders to give it a 
shape unique among its kind. 
It is one of the most preten- 
tious of the Pueblo ruins, as it 
\ is the most imposing ; though 
, there are many hundreds that 

are larger. 

J From the clear, still stream, 

11 hemmed in by giant sycamores 

that have doubdess grown only 

^ ||' since that strange, gray ruin was 

deserted, the foot of the cliff is 

i'^ some three hundred feet away. 

The lowest foundation of the 

castle is over eighty feet above 

the creek; and from comer-stone 

to crest the building towers fifty 

feet. It is five stories tall, over 

sixtv feet front in its widest 




part, and built in the form of 
a crescent. It contains twenty- 
five rooms of masonry; and 
there are, besides, many cave- 
chambers below and at each 
side of it — small natural grottos 
neady walled in front and with 
wee doors The timbers of the 
castle are still in excellent pres- 
ervation, — a durability impos- 
sible to wood in any other cli- 
mate, — and some still bear the 
clear marks of the stone axes 
with which they were cut. The 
rafter-ends outside the walls 
were " trimmed " by burning 
them off close. The roofs and 
floors of reed thatch and adobe 
mud are still perfect except in 
two or three rooms ; and traces 
of the last hearth-fire that 
cooked the last meal, dim cen- 
turies ago, are still there. In- 
deed, there are even a few- 
relics of the meal itself — com, 
dried cactus-pulp, and the like. 
The fifth story is nowhere 
visible from below, since it 
stands far back upon the roof 
of the fourth and under the 
hanging rock. In front it has 
a spacious veranda, formed by 
the roof of the fourth story, 
and protected by a parapet which the picture carried upon their backs the uncounted tons of 
shows with its central gateway to which a stones and mortar and timbers to build that 
ladder once gave access. It is only the upper great edifice. What do you imagine an Amer- 
story which can be reached by an outside ican architect would say, if called upon to plan 
ladder — all the others were accessible only for a stone mansion in such a place? The 
through tiny hatchways in the roofs of those original ladders have long ago disappeared; 
below. So deep is the great uptilted bowl in and so have the modern ones once put there 


which the castle stands, so overhanging the 
wild brow of cliff above, that the sun has never 
shone upon the two topmost stories 

There is but one way to get to the castle ; 
and that is by the horizontal ledges below. 
These rise one above the other (like a series of 
shelves, »oi like steps), ten to fourteen feet apart. 

by a scientist at the fort. I had to climb to 
the castle by a crazy little frame of sycamore 
branches, dragging it after me from ledge to 
ledge, and sometimes lashing it to knobs of 
rock to keep it from tumbling backward down 
the cliff. It was a very tickhsh ascent, and gave 
full understanding how able were the builders, 

and fairly overhang. The aborigines had first and how secure they were when they had re- 
to build strong ladders, and lay them from ledge treated to this high-perched fortress and pulled 
to ledge; and then up that dizzy footing they up their ladders — as they undoubtedly did every 




night. A monkey could not scale the rock ; 
and the clili" jjerfectly protects the castle above 
and on each side. Nothing short of modem 
wea])ons could possibly affect this lofty citadel. 
Down in the valley at its feet — as below 
Montezuma's Well and the hundreds of other 
prehistoric dwellings in the canon of Beaver — 

are still traces of the little fields and of the 
accquias * that watered them. Even in those 
far daj's the Pueblos were patient, industrious, 
home-loving farmers, but harassed eternally by 
wily and merciless savages — a fact which we 
have to thank for the noblest monuments in our 
new-old land. 

* The characteristic irrigating-ditclies of tiie Southwest. 

If in the Flowery Kingdom you had happened 

to be born, 
F.nough of flowers you might have — and every 

flower a thorn ; 
Vou would not, light as thistle-down, this 
Fourth of July 
Dance round with 
your torpedoes 
and your mel- 
low mimic horn; 
For you would be, 
poor little maid, 
unused to go 
alone, — 
A prisoner whose 
bandaged feet 
no liberty have 
known ! 


Oh ! what is it floats 

above us, so dauntlessly on high. 
The sunset bars, the midnight stars, a glory 

in the sky I 
'J"he winds are waiting on it, with rainbows, 

storms, and showers. 
And all the sunshine of the land ijours through 

that flag of ours ! 

And if, a darlin 

his ray 
Where fir in 

b u r n i n g 


shine the 

snows of y 

Himalay, ^(— . 
Where women 

waste their 

dreary lives and 
In braiding jewels 

the sun, you first had seen 

wear the time away 
for their hair the livelong 
summer day. 
Outdoors would be a 
fairy-land forbidden 
to your eye. 
The slave of the 
\ zenana, within its 

walls to die. 

And if you chanced 
to be the child of 
the Circassian hills, 

^Vhere the shepherd's 
fluting wild the 
glades with music 



One day the thought of wandering herds and 

leaping mountain rills 
With longing that is but despair across your 

memory thrills, — 
A Turkish merchant lifts your veil and finds 

that you are fair; 
You are his slave, and never more will breathe 
your native air. 

.\nd if where the Dark 
Continent its vast 
recesses hides, 
Where to lose itself in 
deserts the mighty 
river slides. 
Your home w^ere in a 
'f-.f'l' - ' /. •■ • . "^^ wattled hut upon 

J the jungle-sides — 

A warrior with his spear 
across the thicket glides. 
And tears you from your mother's arms, and 

never heeds her wail. 
To sell with gold and ivory where the slave- 
ship drops her sail. 

Or even if you had been 
bom a week's sail 
o'er the sea. 

In that Green Island 
from which snakes 
were one day forced 
to flee. 

More like than not this 
sorry day an e.xile 
you would be, 

Or turned out of your cabin in the bog to 

sleep, machree ; 
.\nd you 'd have no country of your own till 

you crossed wild leagues of foam. 
And church-steps in a foreign land would be 

your only home. 

But here you dance, as light as if the wind's 

will were your own. 
Nor cramped your feet, nor dwarfed your soul 

where this bright flag is blown ! 
No merchant weighs that heart of yours, as 

heavy as a stone, 
With silks and 

shawls; no fetter 

cuts your white 

wrist to the 

But to blossom and 

to bourgeon 

here you are as 

free as flowers. 
This blessed banner 

overhead pos- 
sesses heavenly 

powers ! 



Oh, what is it 

floats above us, 

so dauntlessly 

on high, 
The sunset bars, the midnight stars, a glory 

in the sky ! 
- The winds are waiting on it, with rainbow, 

storms, and showers. 
And all the sunshine of the land gleams in 

that flag of ours ! 

"^S]] 0iulijr:i g. JBuinstcad, 

My Dolly went to tl^e K^uriK o{ JvJy - 

I never should have allowed l\er - 
We boiK"were careless , ])olIy and I , 
And Came too close to the powder. 
I don't Know Kow it liappened, my^elf- 

XwaS SometKi)\d alsoiit the fuses — 
But Polly and 1 were laid on the slielt' 
WilK blisters and bumps and bruises 

I v/asnt hiu't very much, you Know , 

Tho* mama declared it sKockeci Ker ; 
iiy tivLibles weiv Cia-ed , ion<*,]ong a<^o 

Without once callini:^ the tSoctor. " -a^^ 
But Dolly will never "again be talr ^^^ 

Where the horrid powder shot Iner, 
And it fr i^3led and siji«^ed l^er ^s^oldenlhair 

Till 3heb balder thaii tbicle Potler , 


Translatid by Nina M. Miel from " Le Petit Marchand de Sucre d'Orge," 
published in the St. Xicholas for May. 

It is recess : the cliiklrcn joyfully escape from scliool 
and rush to tlie little vender, who never fails to be there 
when the time comes for them to be dismissed. 

He is a child of ten or twelve years of age, clothed in 
white, with a sweet, winning face, who proudly wears 
his little cap, which is also white, and carries the little 
tray hanging from his neck. 

His stock-in-trade is carefully arranged in lines on 
white paper ; it consists of the sticks of barley-sugar so 
dear to French children. Some are flavored with lemon, 
some with orange, some with chocolate, some with 
caramel, and some with marshmallow ; these last white 
and melting in the mouth, and twisted into spirals. One 
cent for the little ones, two for the large. It is a rare 
thing for the child, on starting for school, not to obtain 
from his mama the precious coin which will procure him 
tliis dainty dessert after his luncheon. 

The little vender serves each in turn, receiving the 
pennies in his little box, and wrapping the end of each 
stick of barley-sugar with a piece of paper, so that his 
young customers may not get their fingers sticky. 

He does not disdain to do honor to his wares by tast- 
ing one of his sticks himself. From time to lime he 
withdraws it from his lips, crying: " Barley -sugar, bar- 
ley-sugar, one cent and two cents ! " 

One corner of his apron is tucked up and shows his 
knee-breeches, his stockings, neatly pulled up, and his 
stout shoes ; for our little dealer is obliged to make long 
rounds among the schools of the neighborhood where 
he finds his best customers, and, in the evening, to the 
approaclies to the theaters frequented by workingmen 
and their families, to whom a stick of barley-sugar is a 
favorite treat. 

It is his mother without doubt, a poor widow, who 
makes his humble stock at her home. On her range, 
always lighted, is put the mixture of water, barley, and 
sugar, which, after boiling for a long lime, is poured 
into different receptacles to be flavored and pulled, then 
shaped into sticks which are to become cold and hard on 
a marble slab. His day at an end, the little barley-sugar 
vender, if he has had good sales, returns home, joyfully, to 
pour into his mother's lap the result of his day's business. 



A GLAD summer welcome to you, one and all ! 
And now, in this time of bloom and sunshine, I am 
moved to discourse to you familiarly upon 


It is not always July, my friends, and the fire- 
cracker cannot well be chosen as our national 
flower — blooming violently as it does every twelve- 
month. New York State has, they say, made the 
goldcnrod its own. The graceful muUen is re- 
jected, I suppose, because it is naturalized, not 
native ; besides, a national flower is needed, — 
not a national stalk. Therefore, is it not full time 
that you and I should help the nation to decide? 
And since it must be one thing if not another, what 
shall it be ? That is the question. 

Our country's flower should have a wide range 
of blooming. It should be hardy, ornamental, and 
with a decided air of its own — not a national air ; 
that is another matter. It need not be large nor 
showy, but it should be bright and worthy of honor 
— above all, it should convey a sentiment to the 
hearts of the people. 

One day the dear Little Schoolma'am, after ex- 
plaining the subject, "Our National Flower," to 
the children of the Red School-house, asked : 

" Which of you can propose a flower? " 

There was a deep silence for some seconds. 
Then up went a little hand : 

" I can, ma'am. I think it ought to be the 
Yankee-doodle dandelion J " 

The little girl who said this was not making fun: 
she was in earnest, though all the school laughed. 
And, to my mind, one might do worse than pro- 
pose the dandelion, — bright, sturdy, ever-present 
little republican that it is. 

According to some historians, a spray of the scar- 
let thorn floated out upon the sea to greet Colum- 
bus as he neared his promised land. Brother 

Burroughs, I am informed, is to tell you about the 
thorn in this mouth's St. Nicholas; Brother 
Fenn is going to picture it for you in three of its 
pretty varieties ; and Sister Nason is to sing you a 
fine ballad telling how it was the "first to greet 

At all events, it may be well for you, my investi- 
gators, to look into this matter. Observe all the 
North American flowers you meet with ; find out 
all you can about every plant that, so far, has been 
suggested as our national flower. Speak to the 
grown folk, ply them with questions, tell them, up 
and down, that this country needs a national flow- 
er, and it ought to have it. After a while they '11 
select one, or my name is not Jack. And what if 
the scarlet thorn, with its pretty bud, its bright 
fruit, its defensive thorn, its strong, expressive 
lines, — above all, its historic welcoming of Christo- 
pher Columbus, — should prove to be the choice? 


I HAD intended, my good listeners, to address 
you awhile to-day on the important question, 
"Have we a National Hymn?" but my pulpit is 
laden with so many, many letters concerning this 
point, tliat I hardly know which to take up first. 
And now the dear Little Schoolma'am warns me 
that this is your busy month, and that — if 1 don't 
mind — she feels pretty sure you would prefer that 
I should wait till August. This Fourth of July 
will be gone by that time ; but our country will 
very probably be here, and we shall have ample 
time to report a few of the views and opinions of 
this congregation upon this still unsettled and most 
urgent question — our National Hymn. 


Your Jack has not felt quite comfortable in his 
pulpit since he told you that he knew where you 
could buy a good, sound, live horse for five dollars. 
What if some eager little chap with that very sum 
carefully tucked under his pillow has been lying 
awake o' nights thinking of the day when he should 
become the owner of this dashing steed or a gentle 
pony, whichever he had decided to buy ! Ah, 
well, the fine horse is for sale — many fine horses 
are — for five dollars, and for even a lower price; 
but all my boys and girls do not live in or near 
Australia, and it is in Australia that these equine 
bargains are to be found. 

Hey? What docs equine mean ? No, you funny 
boy of the Red School-house, it docs not mean 
"horses fed on quinine." Ask the Latin class, or 
the dictionaries. They will tell you. 

Yes ; in Queensland, Australia, I am told, on 
good authority, horses are so plentiful that they 
are really in the way. Ordinary animals are not 
worth two dollars a head, and good ones in a half- 
wild state overrun the colony. At auction they 
will not bring more than thirteen or fourteen dol- 
lars a dozen. Think of that! Thousands of horses 
to every single boy who desires to ride. It reminds 
me of the present condition of things in New Jer- 
sey — millions of mosquitos to every boy or girl who 
wishes to be Ijittcn ! 


By Charles F. Jenkins. 

It was a liot, summer day. Betty Ross, seated 
in a high-back chair at her front window, was in- 
dustriously plying her nccdlo. Out in Mulberry 
street the cobbles and the bricks in the narrow 
sidewalk fairly shimmered with the heat. They 
were used to it, though. All day the sun beat 
down upon them. Rising out of the Delaware in 
the morning, it passed from one end of the long 
street to the other, at last sinking to rest in the 
Schuylkill, beyond the town. The big maple-tree 
along the curbstone, however, threw a pleasant 
shade over the front of the little two-story 

Despite the extreme heat there seemed to be an 
air of suppressed excitement in the usually quiet 
city ; and the quick tread of passing feet, the clatter 
of a galloping horseman, and the heavy rumble 
of a loaded cart, caused Betty to pause from her 
work and glance into the street. Even " Powder." 
the big black cat who always curled up for a good 
long nap right after dinner, was wakeful and rest- 
less. He stood on the arm of Betty's chair, his 
fore feet on the w'indow-sill, gazing up and down 
the street at every pnsser-by. Once Betty heard 
the sound of file and drum, and laying her work 
aside she stood on the broad doorstep while a whole 
regiment of raw Virginia troops marched slowly up 
Second street, just below, on their way to join the 
Continental army in New Jersey. 

But this reminded Betty that she must not waste 
her time. Ever since her husband's death, some 
years before, she had supported herself by taking 
in sewing, and now she was accounted the neatest 
and most skilful seamstress in all Philadelphia. 
With her present piece of work she was taking ex- 
tra pains, and yet it must be finished by sunset. 
She was making shirts with wide embroidered 
ruffles for General Washington, who must hasten 
away that night to overtake the Virginia regi- 
ment, and with them join the waiting army. 

And so she sewed on steadily for an hour or more. 
Powder had at last curled up on the cool stone 
of the doorstep, and was apparently fast asleep. 
Neighbor Samuel Smith paused at the window to 
wipe his perspiring brow and tell the latest news 
from Congress and the army. " Ves," he said, in 
answer to her inquiry; " Congress decided upon 
the flag this morning, and without any debate 
either " ; then he passed slowly on to his home near 
the corner below. 

Again she heard footsteps approaching. They 
paused at her door, and she had barely time to 
put aside her sewing when tlic tall form of Gen- 
eral Washington himself appeared in the doorway. 
\'ery warm he was with his stiff uniform, his heavy 
hat, and epaulets, and all. With him were her 
husband's uncle. Colonel Ross, and a gentleman 

in citizen's clothes. Powder, aroused from his nap, 
took refuge under his mistress's chair. 

" Betty Ross," said General Washington, noting^ 
the heads that were peeping out from the opposite 
windows, and the presence of a half-dozen boys in 
the doorway anxious to see and hear all that was 
going on, "we want to speak with you privately." 

" Come in here, then," said Betty, leading the 
way through the little entry into the darkened back 
parlor; " we will not be disturbed here." 

The gentlemen followed. Colonel Ross carefully 
closing the door behind him. 

"Betty," said Washington, "we have decided 
on the flag, and we want you to make it for Ub. 
Do you think you can do it?" "I don't know 
whether I can, but I 'II try," said Betty. " How 
is it to be made ? " 

Washington took from his pocket a rough draw- 
ing, and explained how wide it should be and 
how long, the number of stripes and how they were 
to be arranged, and explained to her that in the 
upper left-hand corner there was to be a blue field 
with thirteen white stars. 

" But why hast thou made the stars six-pointed?" 
asked Betty. No one knew. 

At last Robert Morris, the committeeman in civi- 
lian dress, suggested that in English heraldry the 
star had six points. 

"Yes," answered Betty with spirit, " and that is 
allthemorereason why ours should be five-pointed." 

" But, Betty, can you make a shapely five-pointed 
star?" asked Colonel Ross. 

Hastening into the front room, she returned with 
her work-basket. Picking out a square piece of 
cambric, she deftly arranged it, one fold over an- 
other, and finally with one clip of her shears she 
cut off the greater portion of it. Opening out 
what remained she showed them a perfect star 
with five points. The committee were delighted 
with the suggestion, and it was adopted at once. 

And this is said to be why the stars in our flag 
to-day are five-pointed, while those on our coins, 
following the English custom, have six points. 

Betty made her flag, soon to be unfurled as the 
emblem of Independence and Union, with thirteen 
stripes of alternate red and while, and thirteen 
white stars arranged in a circle on the blue field in 
the corner. Some said the stars repiesented the 
constellation called Lyra, and were an emblem of 
harmony and unity ; but Congress designed it to 
be "a new constellation." 

For years Betty and her daughter made flags 
for the government, and Betty cut many graceful 
five-pointed stars with one clip of her shining 
shears. To this day the little girls among her 
descendants, just as soon as they are old enough 
to use a pair of scissors, receive a piece of paper. 


and their mamas show them how their great-great- 
grandma made the star for General Washington. 
It was one of these little girls, now grown up, who 
showed me how to do it. 


Take a square piece of paper and fold it in half; 
then fold it again so that it will resemble fig. I. 



f old it again on the dotted line so that when folded 
it will be as in fig. II. Fold it over once more, 

again on the dotted line ; when it should have the 
shape of fig. III. Then cut it as shown by the 
dotted line in fig. Ill, 
and you will have a sym- 
metrical five-pointed star. 
Betty's little house is 
standing to-day. Every- 
thing else around it has 
changed — even the name 
of the street is different. 
Tall five-storied buildings 
look down on both sides — 
one fancies, with con- 
tempt — upon the little 
two-storied building with 
its shingled roof and dor- 
mer window. The front 
room where Betty sewed 
is now used as a store, 
but, with the exception 
of a new floor, the show- 
window, and the door, it is as it was a hundred 
years ago. May it long withstand the march of 
so-called progress ! 


Bv F. E. 

In this article I shall very simply and briefly 
state a few of the principles that govern the use 
of the apparatus and chemicals employed in de- 
veloping dry plates. By following the plain direc- 
tions given, one may develop his own pictures 
with intelligent skill. But, unless the young ex- 
perimenter has the patience to master the few 
principles of the art and science of photography, 
he will never inake a photographer. It will be 
a mere matter of chance whether he gets good 
pictures or not. The real art and science of 
photography are in the intelligent use of a lens 
and in the development of the plate. A person 
who does not know why and how to vary the pro- 
portions of his chemicals under different circum- 
stances, and who, therefore, sends his pictures to 
be developed for him, is not a photographer. He 
is on a level with the child who holds the end of 
the rein when his father drives. 

We must first consider the action of light on the 
prepared plate, and then the uses of the few chemi- 
cals needed. 

When light shines on various substances, it 
causes certain changes to occur in them. Some 
it causes to change in color. The compounds of 
silver, for instance, turn purple or brown or black, 
as you have probaljly seen photographic " proofs " 
and indelible ink do, when exposed to light. 

In preparing photographic plates, the glass, 
paper, or celluloid is coated on one side with a 

mixture of fine glue and a solution of silver. This 
coated side is called the "film" side. The coat- 
ing is done in a room lighted by the least possible 
quantity of red light. The mixture is called an 
"emulsion." These emulsions are made at differ- 
ent temperatures, the emulsions for the most sen- 
sitive plates being made at higher temperatures 
than those for slow plates. The plates will keep 
good for months. 

When one of these plates is put into a camera, in 
the place of the ground glass, and the lens is un- 
capped before a landscape, the hght that comes 
through the lens acts differently on different parts of 
the plate. The light that comes from the bright sky 
affects the plate much more than the small amount 
of light that comes from any dark, less lighted 
object. When the plate is taken to the dark-room 
and looked at after the light has acted upon it, no 
picture is visible. Its coating is of just the same 
uniform cream-color as before. But when you 
pour over your " exposed " plate certain photo- 
graphic chemicals, whose uses are to be explained 
later, the plate will become black, from a deposit 
of silver, wherever any light has shone on it through 
the lens. The sky part of the picture quickly turns 
black ; but if a man in a black coat had been stand- 
ing before the lens when tlie plate was exposed to 
the light, that part of tlie plate where his coat 
should appear would not be changed at all. When 
the picture has been developed, we can put the plate 



into a solution which will dissolve away any un- 
changed parts. 

If we hold the developed plate up to the light, 
we see a picture in which everything is exactly 
as it is //('/ in nature. A black coat, for instance, 
would be almost bare glass ; a white sky would be 
black, and we should call the picture a "nega- 
tive." From one negative, any number of pictures, 
true to nature, and called " positives," can be 
made. For if we put the negative, when dry, upon 
another plate or piece of paper coated like the 
first plate — film touching film — and let the light 
shine through the negative and upon the film of 
the second plate, and treat the second plate or 
paper with chemicals as before, the light shining 
through the bare glass makes the second plate 
black in those places below bare spaces ; while the 
black parts of the negative, say the sky, protect 
the second plate, whose sky will be light, as in 
nature. We thus have a "positive," which may 
bea window-transparency, or lantern-slide, or paper 
picture, with lights and darks as in nature. 

We might say that the "art" of photography 
consists in handling the plates, apparatus, and 
chemicals in a neat and exact way; in choosing 
picturesque subjects ; and in placing the sitters so 
as to get the best picture. The "science" of pho- 
tography requires such a knowledge of the actions, 
or, as chemists say, " reactions" of the chemicals 
employed, that by skilful use of these chemicals one 
may " save " a plate, even when the exposure was 
made under unfavorable conditions of light or for 
too long or too short a time. 

Photographic chemicals may be divided into 
classes according to their uses : 

1. Those sometimes callett the developers. 
Among these are : pyrogallic acid, hydrochinon, 
and eikonogen. I recommend eikonogen to the 
beginner, because it is clean, powerful in its action, 
and not a poison. 

2. The alkali group. The principal of these 
are : carbonate of potash, carbonate of soda, and 
aqua ammonia. 

3. Hyposulphite of soda, commonly called 
"hypo," used in making the "fixing" solution. 

4. Sulphite of soda, called the " restrainer." 
y. Bromide of potassium, or "bromide," the 

" retarder." 

The developers put strength into the blacks of a 
picture or make it "intense." One must always 
use a little alkali with them. The alkali group 
are called accelerators because they hurry, so to 
speak, the action of Group I. If you have had 
very poor Hght or very little light for your picture, 
you use a large proportion of alkali. The solu- 
tions, mixed together, of one or more members 
of Group I with one or more members of Group 
2 are called "developers." " Hypo" is the chem- 
ical which dissolves away the portions of the emul- 
sion not needed, and therefore "fixes" the parts 
needed. It is frequently used for plates in a solu- 
tion of ten parts of water to one of hypo. 

Sulphite of soda is used to prevent the members 
of Group 1 from wasting their work, or from being 
alTected by the air. There is, therefore, a differ- 
ence between its work and the work done by the 

bromide, which is that of a retarder, not of a 

Bromide is used to prevent too rapid action of the 
members of Group i in case the light were allowed 
to shine too long on the plate through the lens. 
A plate that is left too long exposed under the action 
of the light is said to be "over-exposed." When 
the light has not acted long enough on a plate it 
is said to be "under-exposed." By using a little 
more alkali than usual, car,ftilly, we may often 
save a plate ; but sometimes, if too much is used or 
it is used when there is no need for it, the plate will 
turn gray all over, and we get no picture at all. 
The plate is then said to be " fogged." It may be 
"fogged" from over-exposure, from improper use 
of the chemicals, or from the use of poor chemicals. 

An under-exposed plate is deficient in detail 
and is weak in contrast. An over-exposed plate 
is full of detail ; every minute figure in the pattern 
of a dress and every branch and leaf of a tree may 
show, but there is no contrast, and the sky appears 
hardly darker than anything else. 

If you will keep a note-book in which to record 
facts connected with the exposure and development 
of each plate, you will not tieed to use more than 
the first half-dozen of your plates in experimenting. 

Your eikonogen must be kept dry and cold and 
in the dark. The sulphite of soda and carbonate 
of potash must be in bottles tightly corked; they 
will spoil if more than a little air is allowed to enter 
the bottles. You can make up your solutions as 
follows : 

Solution A. Take of sulphite of soda crystals 
I Yz ounces, or of granular sulphite of soda % of 
an ounce. Dissolve this in 12 ounces of hot water. 
When this is cold, add yi ounce eikonogen. This 
gives you 10 grains of eikonogen to the ounce of 

Solution B. Carbonate of potash 3 drachms (180 
grains), and add of water enough to give about 
10 grains to the ounce of water. Put in a measur- 
ing-glass 3 ounces of A and i of B. This is a 
"normal developer." If your plate should be over- 
exposed take less B ; if under-exposed take a little 
more of B than a normal exposure requires. 

Take your plate-holder into the dark-room, and 
arrange your red or yellow light. In the dark- 
room you must have running water, or at least a 
pitchei of water, and a pail to pour the waste water 
into. Dust the exposed plate and put it into your 
developing-tray. Flow your four ounces of mixed 
developer quickly over the surface of the plate so 
as to cover it completely, and gently rock the tray 
to prevent specks or air-bubbles from resting on 
the plate. 

If the exposure was right, the picture will very- 
soon begin to appear, and will grow gradually in 
strength, keeping good contrast. Keep the tray 
covered as much as possible, and do not bring it 
near the light often. One cannot give any exact 
rule as to time; you can soon tell about it by the 
gradual and steady growth of the picture. After 
some minutes it will appear to sink into the film, 
and you will begin to see the picture on the back 
of the plate. Wash the plate, and put it into the 
tray of hypo solution. In a few minutes, the cream- 



white of the unaffected part of the plate will be 
dissolved away, and the plate is said to be " fixed." 
It is a good plan to lay the plate face down in the 
hypo, provided the plate can be lifted a little at one 
end, so that the film does not touch the tray. Then 
wash the plate thoroughly. If there is no running 
water, change the water in the dish four or five 
times, letting the plate stay in fifteen minutes at a 

Your developing- and hypo-trays should each 
be marked, and never used for anything but its 
special chemicals. Especially must you avoid get- 
ting a single drop of hypo into your developing- 
tray ; it may spoil the picture, and often spoils the 
dish too. 

Use fresh hypo every day ; the developers will 
last much longer. 

If your picture comes up before ten seconds, it 
was probably over-exposed, and may fog and be 
spoiled, unless you can check it quickly enough. 
Pour the solution off from the plate, and fill the 
tray with water; weaken your developer with water. 


add a few drops of bromide, pour the water off from 
the plate, and try again. 

If the plate were under-exposed, it would come 
very slowly. When you have found, by noticing 
the way in which you needed to vary the propor- 
tions of your chemicals, whether or not the expo- 
sure was right, expose another plate, and change 
the length of the exposure, if necessary. This 
second exposure must be made under the same 
conditions of light. Your first picture ought to be 
taken in the middle of a sunny day between ten 
o'clock and two. Do not let the sun shine into 
your lens. Keep your camera steady, when ex- 
posing. If necessary put it on a bench and sit on 
it, while you expose your plate. 

When your plate is washed, set it up on edge 
to dry. Do not attempt to make a print from it 
until it is entirely dry. 

One cannot expect to treat the whole subject of 
developing in this brief paper, but a careful worker 
can make very fair pictures with such simple direc- 
tions as I have given. 


Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscript can- 
not conveniently be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the 
magazine with contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

New York City. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Every morning that I expect 
you I come down to breakfast early, so as to get the first 
glimpse of your exciting story, "Tom Paulding"; and 
though I do not often have time to read it before school, 
it is always the first thing when I come lionie. I am 
also greatly interested in your kind friend " Jack-in-the- 
Pulpit," whose stories I love dearly. 

You are always so nice when you come to us, but later 
in the month you always look rather soiled on account 
of the little hands that' finger you, for our house is full 
of boys, and small ones, too. 

I have a very good friend who comes to my house for 
supper, and we usually work your puzzles out together 
in the evening. I am ajittle girl, living in New York, 
(juile far up-town ; and I am also 

Your interested reader, Emma T . 

Navy Yard, Boston. 

Dkar St. Nicholas: I have taken you for four years, 
and I often see a letter from an ariny or a navy girl ; and 
as I was born in a Navy Yard ^ Mare Island — and have 
always lived in one, I thought 1 must write, too. 

I will tell you something about this Boston Navy Yard, 
where all the children have such good times. My papa 
has command of the barr.acks in which, at the time I am 
writing this letter, we have quarters, although we expect 
to have moved away by the lime you print this letter if 
you think it good enough for the " Lettcr-liox." Right 
in front of tlie barracks is the parade-ground, where the 

soldiers drill and where we play croquet and tennis. 
Then comes the cannon park where there are about 
seven hundred and fifty cannon, and the ball park where 
are little pyramids of cannon-balls, and where we liave fine 
times playing tag and other games. And there is a stand 
where the band from the "Wabash" plays three after- 
noons in the week, and every one goes out and promen- 
ades up and down to hear it. So we have lots of fun. 

There are about one hundred and eighty men in 
these barracks, and they have about twenty bugle-calls 
a day, from reveille, or " Can't get 'm up," at 6 a. m., to 
"taps," at 9:30. Calls for drill and guard-mounting at S, 
meal-calls, calls for forenoon drills and recalls; color- 
mounting at 8 and haul down colors at sunset, or retreat 
and sick-calls, etc. The meal-calls sound like " Soup-e, 
soup-e, without a single bean; pork-e, pork-e, without a 
streak of lean ; coffee, coffee, meanest ever seen." The 
cavalry-call sounds like " Go down to the stable as quick 
as you can and get the poor horse some corn." At drill, 
just after guard-mounting, they play " The Muffin Man." 
Your loving reader, Gertrude Almv H . 

Tahriz, Persia, .Vsia. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I wonder if I am the only 
reader of you here in Persia. 

I think boys of my age can find this country easily if 
they have studied geogra]ihy. It is governed by the 
Shah. He is a good king for this country. 

Mv mama teaches me some of my studies. I am 
studying Persian, Turkish, and Syriac. In this ])art of 



the country they all speak Turkish. I am studying 
Krencli, too. My brother, who is four years younger 
than I, is studying Armenian. 

We have a large pond in our yard. It is frozen over 
all the winter. I have a pair of sk.ates. I think a good 
many of your readers think that Persia is a very hot 
country. It is in some parts of the country. But here 
it is cold; we live in the northern part, which is the 
s.ime as ancient Media. 

We have a white donkey ; we ride him a great deal. 
Vour interested reader, Ah.en O. W . 

Wilmington, Del. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking you only four 
months. When I was nine years old my papa took me 
to Niagara Falls. The falls come down with such force 
that fine spray fills the air. I also have been to Wash- 
ington and M.iuch Chunk. I rode up Mount Pisgah over 
the gravity railroad, and had a beautiful view of the 
country forrailes from the summit of this mountain. From 
there we rode up to a quiet little mining-town among the 
mountains where we saw the burning coal-mine. 

While in Washington we went up in the lop of the 
Washington Monument, nearly five hundred and fifty-six 
feet from the ground. I have lived in three different 
cities : Philadelphia, Rahway, N. J., and now live in 
Wilmington, Del., and think I like it the best. This 
is a great manufacturing city, and has a population of 
about sixty-two thousand. 

I was very much interested in the " Admiral's Cara- 
van," and also like your " Letter-box." 

Vour appreciative friend, Eugene C. H . 

Diamond, Ark. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been here three years. 
My native home is Indiana. I came through Illinois as 
we came here. I think it a fine country — the beautiful 
prairie stretches away as far as eye can see. We have 
the finest mineral springs here one ever saw. I think 
we raise the finest fruit in the world. In the lower lands 
of Arkansas people raise cotton, mostly. I don't expect 
the children in cities and in the northern States ever saw 
any growing. I think it beautiful, with the bolls of cot- 
ton hanging down, and as white as snow. 

Your new friend, Ines McM . 

Ale.xandria, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : As it is raining very hard, and 
my lessons are prepared, I am going to write you a short 

I have been taking you about three years, and my 
happiest moments are spent in reading you. I am ac- 
quainted with one of your writers. Miss A. M. Ewell. 
I spent two very pleasant weeks at her home in Prince 
William County, \"a. I enjoy her stories very much. 
It is getting dark, so I must close. 

Your faithful reader, Grace H . 

Fort Huachuca, Arizona. 
Dear St. Nicholas : This is an army-post in southern 
Arizona, about fourteen miles from Mexico. Our nearest 
town is Tombstone. The post is just at the mouth of a 
caiion of the Huachuca (pronounced Wachuca) moun- 
tains. We are five thousand two hundred feet above the 
>ea, and the climate is splendid. Lovely storms come 
down the mountains, but we never have rainy days. 
There are cavalry and infantry at the post, and an Indian 
company. One of the Indians died recently, and he had 
a regular military funeral; his coffin was on a caisson 
with a flag over it, and the band played. It must have 
seemed queer to the other Indians. On Washington's 

Birthday we had two picnics. Some of the little children 
rode on burros and went a short distance up the canon. 
The burros go so slowly they would not have had much 
time for a picnic if they had gone far. The rest of us 
got a dump-cart from the quartermaster, and a big while 
mule they call " Whitewings," and went up to the springs, 
about three miles up the canon. We had lots of fun climb- 
ing over rocks and gathering water-cresses. Then we 
had lunch. Coming home was more fun than anything 
else. Whitewings tried to trot all the way home. Going 
down hills we went bumping along until we all felt sick. 
.\ftcr we came home our pictures were taken. 

Yours sincerely, Eugenia B . 

Footvili.f, Wis. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In the .April number of your 
charming magazine you spoke of that kite as being a 
monster ; it was rather large, but another hoy and I 
built a kite last summer that beat that one "all hollow." 
The boards were one-half inch thick by two inches wide ; 
very heavy brown paper was used for covering, which 
was fastened on by lapping over the outside string and 

When finished, it was about eight feet high, and when 
it was lying on its side I could just comfortably reach 
to the place where the cross-string wis fastened to the 
cross-stick; and I am thirteen years old, and four feet 
nine inches tall. We built it for a storekeeper who had 
plenty of string. For a tail we had four or five pairs 
of pants, an old hammock, and twenty-five or thirty feet 
of old rope. It took two boys to start it, and when it 
had got up where there was a good breeze it took its 
turn pulling, and we could not have held it much longer 
had not a man helped us. At its full height it had six 
balls of wool-twine, and also enough other twine to have 
reached two blocks. In regard to tails, I think that 
rags are better than paper, for they are not so apt to 
get tangled should anything happen to the kite. 

Ray P . 

Paris, France. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I read every month, with so 
much pleasure, the letters from your bright boys and 
girls in all parts of the world, and thought perhaps one 
from me might find room. I call myself an American, 
for I was born in New York fourteen years ago, but 
my father is a Dutch artist, and we live in Paris. 

I would like to describe my last summer's trip to Brit- 
tany. Last July we went for a month to Quimperle, a 
little town of about four thousand inhabitants. It is sit- 
uated in a charming valley, often called the " Arcadie of 
Finistere," its quaint old houses leaning in all sorts of 
angles, with sunken mud floors, on which the babies, 
pigs, and chickens play together; and at the little half- 
doors the old people sit to smoke and gossip after their 
day's work. 

Three rivers meet in the town, and the old moss-grown 
bridges oflcr many viotifs or hints to the artists who were 
the first to find these out-of-the-way corners. 

We drove then to Pont-.\ven, over such a wonderful 
road, kept, like all the post-roads in France, in perfect 

Pont-Aven is not so pretty as Quimperle, but has quite 
a colony of artists of all nations. We spent our two 
months there very pleasantly, with trips to the sea and 
to " pardons," which occur every Sunday at one or the 
other of the many churches. 

Perhaps not all your little friends know just what a 
Breton pardon is. Early in the morning crowds of 
country carts, loaded with peasant women dressed in 
snowy caps and collars, and looking like so many strange 
birds, were seen driving toward the church, which this 
time was on the estate of a marquis, and beautifully placed 


in a woody valley opening out to a stream. At eleven 
o'clock they formed a procession of priests, boys carrying 
banners, aiftl girls in wliite, headed by such music as they 
could obtain. 

As the church was too small to hold them all, several 
hundred kneeled out on the hillside during mass, and a 
few old beggars dragged themselves around the church 
on their knees, asking alms. 

.-^fter mass the business of the day begins, — the men 
drinking cider and gossiping, while the young folks walk 
about among the booths buying pretty favors. 

A few of them found their way through the wood to 
an old fountain which is supposed to be sacred; and the 
Bretons believe that it cures all diseases. Poor old men 
afflicted with rheumatism poured tlie water carefully into 
their sabots, down their sleeves, aiding each other in 
pouring it down the back of their necks ; mothers washed 
their sick babies in the pool below. 

After the pardons, the peasants' weddings are interest- 
ing. It is a very poor wedding, indeed, in which there 
are not two hundred invited guests. The wedding feast 
is served in the covered market, tlie sides of which are 
hung with large linen sheets, and just behind where the 
bride stands it is dotted with flowers. 

The bridal party appear, headed by their traditional 
bagpipes, and then begins the feast ; afterward comes two 
hours' feasting ort dishes of pork, beef, and greens, hard 
and heavy Breton cakes, and black bread, all washed down 
with great draughts of cider. 

Then the pipers, mounted high upon barrels, begin 
their, to our ears, piercing music. The dance is a sort 
of gavotte, slow, and long in duration, with only now and 
then a rest for more cider. 

As they dance in sabots, it is not very graceful, and 


from the sad, smileless faces I think it more of a duty 
than a pleasure. It is kept up for three days, and the 
couple who dance longest are the heroes of the hour ! 

I mean to be an artist, and as soon as my school work 
is over I shall begin hard studio work. 

Your friend and reader, 

Avis H . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: C. G. M., N. A., 
Elfreda S., Charlotte C, Louis D., EUinor D. W., Clara 
K., Winifred M. A., Stewart R., H. M. S., Emma L. C, 
Harold M. B., Kellie M. A., F. D. C, Grace A. L., 
Lewis A., Edith M. B., Harry B. H., Elsie B. B., Saidee 
P. M., Bertha B., iMathilde F. and Sue H., Maud and 
Lily, LucettaG. B., Ellen M. B., Ilattie D. L., John B., 
Jr., Paul Jerome W., Eleanor M. W.,Thos. M. P., Jr., 
Ethel F., Estelle M. S., Edith A. G. E., Lyman K., Lyn- 
dego, Persen M. B., Ormie S. P., Harry R., Veva A., 
Ethel B., Elise C, Elsa H., Edward S., " Little lowan," 
Lenore S., Alice W., Hazel ]. H., George F. P., Ella K., 
Edith M. B., Elizabeth Wi, Helen T., Herbert E. S., 
Helen, Sarah L., Louise M. P., Clare, Bessie C, Francis, 
Geo. Aug. H., Eliza G. F., Julia B. F., Blanche W.. 
M. Y., Ernestine P., Frank B., S. Annie W., Miriam C, 
Dora May G., D. E. T., Annie F. G., Helen E., Made- 
line L. S., Eleanor M. B. and Bessy M. K., Thos. L. E., 
Arthur N. H., May W., Julia R. C, Grace M. H., Bessie 
B., Henry B. S., Bessie M. G., Russell P.. Helen L. H., 
Alice G. H., Hazel M. H., Pearl H., Robin G. H., Kate 
C. W., Solange N. J., Louise H. H., Isabel S. T., B. 
Gage L., E. D. P., Allie S. D., Burnadene S., " Junie," 
Mabel S., Edith P. B., Willy G. T. G., Daisy A., Har- 
old E. C, Coleman M., Ada E. T., A. Louise T. 



9- So- 

1. Ga-b.le. 2. Br-u-it. 

:s. 7. Ap-h-is. 8. Lo- 
Thomas Bailey Aldri 
2. Towel. 3. Newel. 

Vireo. 2. Albatross. 3. Chick- 
Ibis. 7. Owl. 8. Night-hawk. 
10, Sebastopol ; from 11 to 20, 
" ■ Subdu- 



A I.KTTF.R PlJZLE. Bogill at C 1 

i'alm weatlicr i 
Sets the com i 
Syncopations. BunRer Hill. 

4. As-k-er. 5. Dr-e-ain. 6. Cu-r 
1-ar 10. Do-l-or. Anagram 

Rhomboid. Across; i. Cades 

5. Roger. 
A Bird Puzzle. Vacation. 

adee. 4. Avocet. 5. Turkey. 

Double Zigzag. From i ti 
Montcbcllo. Cross-words: i. Sediment. 2. Semit 
ing. 4. Adjacent. 5. Disabled. 6. Stage-box. 
8. Spicular. 9. Spousals. 10. Stiletto. 

Charade. Lark-spur. 

Diamond, i. J. 2. Sup. 3. Sapid. 4. Jupil 
6 Dey. 7. R. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-bo.\," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the Ai'ril Number were received, before April 15th, from "The Peterkins" — Maude E. 
Palmer— Paul Reese —Chester B. S — "The McG's."— Alice Mildred Blanke and Co. — Josephine Sherwood— E. M. G.— Mama and 
Jamie — " Uncle Mung "— Ida Carleton Thallon — ' Guion Line and -Acme Slate " — Gertrude L. — Hubert L. Bingay. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Nu.mber were received, before April 15th, from C. Chester, 1 — Grace Irene S, r — Grace 
Isabel, i-C. Chester, 1 — Ehine S.,4— "Two Crane Sisters," t — Emily B. B., i — Agnes M. B., i— Theodore A. J. Ladner, 2- 
S. M. C. I. M. G., I — Naje Rheatan, 2 — Winifred M. Mattingly, i— Jas. Henr>-, i — Minerva Camp, i— Jan and Dick, i — M. I'.. 
Foster, i — Bessie White, 2 — Charlotte and Daisy, i — Ruth F. Graves, i — Mary L. Thomson, i — Lillian Reser, i — The F. C. C, i — 
Ida B. Graves, i— Academic B., 2— "Only 1," i — Gwendolen Reid, 3 — F. G., i — Grace Louise Holaday, o- K. and S. Reed and 
R. Hale, I — Florence E. Bannister, 2 — A. M. J. and A. J. J., i — Efiie K. Talboys, 7- Fannie G., i- Ruth M. Mason, 2- Margaret 
Eddy, 2 — Harold Short, i — L. O. E.. u —Louis Don, 2 — Lelia Rightor, i—" Star," i — Nellie L. Howe.s, 9— May C. Fr 



z Acrostic. Primals, John Rich.Trdson ; fin.-ils, Abraham 

i-words: I. Judean. 2. Occasional. 3. Hidalgo. 

Raven. 6. I. 7. Continual. 8. Heroism. 9. Am- 

igh. II. Diana. 12. Spur. 13. Orb. 14. Neuralgia 

A Dickens Acrostic. Initials, Matthew Bagnet. Cross-words: 

1. Mark (Taplev). 2. Akershem (Miss Sophronia). 3. Traddles 

(Tommy). 4. 1'illy (Slowboy). 5. Heep (Uriah). 6. Edward 

(Dorrit). 7. Wcller. 8. Bagstock (Joey). 9. Agnes (Wickfield). 

10. Gamp (Sairy). 11. Nell. 12. Emma. 13. 'lodgers (Mrs.). 

Single Acrostic. Second row, Gaberlunzie. Cross-words: 

Obese. 4. Cedar. 5. Crisp. 6. Blink. 

. Azure. 10. Niece, n. Gelid. 

Order. 2. Rhine. 3. Divan. 4. Enact. 

Scale. 3. Taken. 4. Elect. 5. Rents. 

4. Tribe. 5. Strew. IV. i. Strew 

WheLs. V. I. Slrew. 2. Ti:ira. 

, Agate. 2. Satan. 
. Dusky. 8. Indue, c 
Greek Cross. I. i. 
. Rents. II. 1. Aster. 
II. I. Rents. 2. Ewart. 3. Na 
. Touch. 3. Ruble. 4. Eclat. 

Erode. 5. Wares. 

Gale, 2 — "Gugga," 2 — Lena Quinn, i — Lionel and Ma 
Low, I — Rosalind Mitchell, 2 — Nan and Grace, 5 — Elhel ct Cic, 5 
Ida. Alice, and Allie, 12 — M. T. B., 2—" May and '79," 5— Jo : 
'We Girls." 8— Rosalie Bloomingdale, 12 — "The Partn 

in, 10— Laura M. Zinser. 5 — Helen S. Coates, 3— Marian W. 
- Mama and Chariie, 4 — Charles H. Munch, 2 — Nellie Archer 2 — 
d I, 10 — Jessie Chapman, 3 — "Leather-Stocking," 12 — " Floren- 
9 — "Three of One Kind," 3 — Violet and Dora Hereford, 6 — 

' Three Blind Mice," 2 — Sarah and Susan Lucas, i — Anna A. Crane, 2 ^ Polly, i -- Esme Beauchamp, 4. 


All of the words described contain the same num- 
ber of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one 
below the other, the first and second rows of letters 
(reading downward) will each spell a word often heard 
in July. 

Ckoss-words : i. Bright in color. 2. A puzzle. 
■{. Waning. 4. .^n eelbuck. 5. .\ fabulous animal. 
6. Indolent. 7. Involving some secret meaning. 



Myyfrj/, it •■ hath charms " among arts, you will find ; 
My second word means to make one, or to bind ; 
My thirj, an enchantress who sang by the shore ; /ourl/i is what newspapers have by the score; 
My /oj/ word is what on the altar is burned — 
Its obsolete meaning is " tax," I have learned. 


I. Cross-words : i. A small lizard. 2. To rever- 
berate. 3. A small bird. 

Primals, unaccustomed; finals, the quantity of ten 
barrels of flour ; primals and finals connected, a philos- 

II. Cross-words: i. To stain. 2. Lethargy. 3. 
To commence. 4. To care for. 

Primals, an inh-abitant of a certain European country; 
finals, to set on shore ; primals and finals connected, a 
country of Europe. "JONNIE THUN." 


Across : l. Pertaining to vegetable mold. 2. A femi- 
nine name. 3. Fatigues. 4. A pliable strip of leather. 
5. A \vicUed city of ancient times. 

IJowNW.vRn: I. In rhomboid. 2. A pronoun. 3. To 
ent.Tngle. 4. The flower-de-luce. 5. Vehicles. 6. An 
illustrious man. 7. Dejecteil. 8. .\ river of Italy. 9. In 
rhomboid. B. 


Once of an animal I formed a part, 

Vet in that life had neither heacl nor heart ; 

Hut dead, I 'm cured, by man I am made whole ; 

.■\n understanding have, and boast a soul. 

But brief the triumph ; for I 'm now brought loxver 
Than in the sphere I had adorned before. 
Perfidious man ! Who then his arts will trust ? 
Blackens my character, treads me in the dust. 

Yet I forgive — to him my soul devote, 
And save him from all trials, — near, remote, 
From desert sands and winter's icy sleet, — 
Nothing my kindly purpose can defeat. c. L. M. 




I AM composed of thirty-nine letters, and nm a sen- 
tence from a speech by Robert C. Winthrop. 

My 21-16-3-33 is a tropical fruit. My 27-lo-lS- 
20-24 '5 ^''' occurrence. My 6-38-35 is a sprite. My 
26-31-1-14-11 is to vex. My S-29-22-36-15 is to cook. 
My 28-19-32-7-5-23 are kindnesses done or granted. 
My 17-25-34-39-13 is to loiter. My 4-30-12-9-2-37 is 
to stop. O. S. D. 


g. To attempt to escape. 10. Consumed. II. A word 
used in the motto of the Prince of Wales. 12. A snare. 
13. To seize by a sudden grasp. 14. A short-legged 
and stout variety of horse. 15. To vibrate harshly. 
16. The goddess of revenge. 17. The flat part of a 
grate at the side, where things are placed to be kept 
warm. c. 


A DISTINGUISHED literary woman: 

.She wrote, a tribe cheer. 


Across: i. A kiln. 2. The part sung by the low- 
est female voices. 3. A loud, continuous noise. 4. 

Downward: i. Impels. 2. The agave. 3. To be- 
spangle. 4. A large, round molding on the base of a 
column. "XELIS." 

I. Acorns. 2. A Scriptural proper name. 3. Dis- 
graced. 4. A gage used liy a mason. 5. To recount. 
6. To prevent by fear. 7. To designate. c. D. 



All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below 
another, in the order here given, the central letters, read- 
ing downward, will spell the Latin term for a book- 

Cross-words : l. Pains. 2. To gather after a reaper. 
3. The outer covering of a flower. 4. To cause to fit. 
5. A musical instrument. 6. A collision. 7. To linger. 
8. To broil on a gridiron. 9. A cavalry sword. 10 Poets. 
II. To treat with injustice. 12. To ramble. 13. The 
outer husk or bract of a spikelet. 14. A precious stone 
carved in relief. c. 

Hex nns shang clam ta messmur sopie; 

Het ethar elis hatbed in grimmshine onon, 
Ta erst rofm lal ehr cleerhuf sineo, 

Wiht thare-grinsst tenilsly ni nute. 
Eht item, woh atubilufe dan read, 

Wenh realy strufi binge ot sidub, 
Dan eht lufl agafeel fo eht yare 

Vawss ore hemt wiht a shclgrenit shuh. 


All of the words described contain three letters, and 
the zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand corner, spells 
a title given to Christian II., a cruel king of Denmark 
and Sweden. 

Cross-words: i. A beverage. 2. .'\n excl.imation. 
3. Distress. 4. X unit. 5. To increase. 6. Metal. 7. 
Since. 8. One who entertains hatred against another. 

I. LTppER Left-hand Diamond: i. In parades. 
2. Encountered. 3. The daughter of ^etes. 4. Those 
who make a display of their knowledge. 5. Rigid. 

6. Consumed. 7. In parades. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In parades. 
2. A Scriptural name. 3. One who notes. 4. Estab- 
lished. 5. Leased again. 6. Three fifths of to prevent. 

7. In parades. 

III. Central Diamond : 1. In parades. 2. Part of 
the head. 3. Finished. 4. Burdened. 5. A number 
of men who relieve others in carrying on some work. 
6. The governor of Algiers. 7. In parades. 

IV. Lower Left-Hand Diamond : i. Tn parades. 
2. To obstruct. 3. Made into bundles. 4. Issued sud- 
denly. 5. To govern. 6. A cave. 7. In par.adcs. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond: i. In parades. 
2. An affirmative answer. 3. To sing as the Swiss 
mountaineers. 4. Drawn. 5. Denominations. 6. One 
half of a task. 7. In parades. G. F. 




Vol.. XI.\ 

AUGUST, I 89: 

No. 10. 


By Iohn Adams. 

This is a true story about a real cat who, 
for aught I know, is still alive and following 
the sea for a living. I hope to be excusej:! if 
I use the pronouns "who" and "he" instead 
of "which" and "it," in speaking of this par- 
ticular cat ; because although I know very 
well that the grammars all tell us that "he" 
and " who " apply to persons, while " it " and 
"which" apply to things, yet this cat of mine 

"Well, what are you doing to him?" 

" Oh, pokin' him up ! When he comes out 
we '11 rock him," was the answer, in good 
Marblehead dialect. 

" Well, don't do it any more. What 's tiie 
use of tormenting a poor cat ? Why don't you 
take somebody of your size ? " 

The boys slowly moved off, a little ashamed 
and a little afraid of the big vachtsman who 

always seemed to us who knew him to be so spoke ; and when they were w-ell out of sight the 

much like a human being, that 1 find it unsat- yachtsmen went on, too, and thought no more 

isfactory to speak of him in any other wa\-. about the cat they had befriended. But when 

There are some animals of whom you prefer to they had wandered about the tangled streets of 

say " he," just as there are persons whom you the tow-n for a little while, and paid the visits 

sometimes feel like calling " it." which all good yachtsmen pay, to the grocery 

The way we met this cat was after this fash- and the post-office and the apothecary's soda- 
ion : It was back somewhere in the seventies, fountain, they returned to the wharf and found 
and a party of us were cruising east from Bos- their boat. And behold, there in the stern- 
ton in the little schooner-yacht " Eyvor." We sheets sat the little gray-and-w-hite cat of the 
had dropped into Marblehead for a day and a woodpile! He had crawled out of his retreat 
night, and some of the boys had gone ashore and made straight for the boat of his chami)ions. 
in the tender. As they landed on the wharf. He seemed in no wise disturbed or disposed to 
they found a group of small boys running sticks move when they jumped on board, nor did he 
into a woodpile, evidently on a hunt for some- show anything but pleasure when they stroked 
thing inside. and patted him. But when one of the boys 

" What have you in there ? " asked one of started to put him ashore, the plucky little fel- 

the yachtsman. low showed his claws; and no sooner was he 

" .N'othin' but a cat," said the boys. set on his feet at the edge of the wharf than he 

Copyright, i8g7. by TnH CENTfRV Co, All rights reserved. 




turned ahoul and jumped stiaiglu back into tlie 

" He wants to go yacliling," said one of the 
party, whom we called " The Bos'n." 

" Ye might as wal take the cat," said a grizzly 
old fisherman standing on the wharf; " he 
does n't belong to anybody, and ef he stays 
here the boys '11 worry him t' death." 

" Let 's take him aboard," said the yachtsmen. 
" It 's good luck to have a cat on board ship." 

Whether it was good luck to the ship or not, 
it was very clear that saw it meant good 
luck to him, and curled himself down in the 

he was allowed to remain in the boat, and was 
taken off to the yacht. 

Upon his arrival there, a council was held, and 
it was unanimously decided that the cat should 
be received as a member of the crew ; and as 
we were a company of amateur sailors, sailing 
our own boat, each man having his particular 
duties, it was decided that the cat should be 
appointed midshipman, and should be named 
after his position. So he was at once and ever 
after known as " Middy." Everybody took a 
great interest in him, and he took an impartial 
interest in everybody — though there were two 

bottom of the boat, with a look that meant 
business. Evidendy he had thought the matter 
all over and made up his mind that this was 
the sort of people he wanted to live with : and, 
being a Marblehead cat, it made no difference 
to him whether they lived afloat or ashore ; he 
was going where they went, whether they 
wanted him or not. He had heard the conver- 
sation from his ])lace in the woodpile, and had 
decided to show his gratitude by going to sea 
with these protectors of his. By casting in his 
lot with theirs he was paying them the high- 
est compliment of which a cat is capable. It 
would have been the height of impoliteness not 
to recognize his distinguished appreciation. So 

people on board to whom he made himself par- 
ticularly agreeable. One was the quiet, kindly 
professor, the captain of the Eyvor; the other 
was Charlie, our cook and only hired hand. 
Middy, you see, had a seaman's true instinct 
as to the official persons with whom it was his 
interest to stand well. 

It was surprising to see how quickly Middy 
made himself at home. He acted as if he 
had always been at sea. He was never seasick, 
no matter how rough it was or how uncom- 
fortable any of the rest of us were. He roamed 
wherever he wanted to, all over the boat. At 
meal-times he came to the table with the rest, 
sat u]! on a valise and la]iped his milk and took 



what bits of food were given him, as if he had 
eaten that way all his life. When the sails were 
hoisted it was his especial joke to jump upon the 
main-gaff and be hoisted with it ; and once he 
stayed on his perch till the sail was at the mast- 
head. One of us had to go aloft and bring 
him down. When we had come to anchor and 
everything was snug for the night, he would 
come on deck and scamper out on the main- 
boom, and race from there to the bowsprit end 
as fast as he could gallop, then climb, monkey- 
fashion, half-way up the masts, and drop back to 
the deck or dive down into the cabin and run 
riot among the berths. 

One day, as we were jogging along under a 
pleasant southwest wind, and everybody was 


lounging and dozing after dinner, we heard the 
Bos'n call out, " Stop that, you fellows ! " and a 
moment after, " I tell you, quit ! — or I '11 come 
up and make you ! " 

We opened our lazy eyes to see what was 
the matter, and there sat the Bos'n, down in the 
cabin, close to the companionway, the tassel 
of his knitted cap coming nearly up to the 
combings of the hatch ; and on the deck out- 
side sat Middy, digging his claws into the 
tempting yam, and occasionally going deep 
enough to scratch the Bos'n's scalp. ^V'hen 
night came and we were all settled down in 
bed, it was Middy's almost invariable custom 
to go the rounds of all the berths, to see if 
we were properly tucked in, and to end his 
inspection by jumping into the captain's bed, 


treading himself a comfortable nest there among 
the blankets, and curling himself down to sleep. 
It was his own idea to select the captain's 
berth as the only proper place in which to 
turn in. 

But the most interesting trait in Middy's 
character did not appear until he had been a 
week or so on board. Then he gave us a sur- 
prise. It was when we were lying in Camden 
harbor. Everybody was going ashore to take a 
tramp among the hills, and Charlie, the cook, 
was coming too, to row the boat back to the 

Middy discovered that he was somehow 
" getting left." Being a prompt and very de- 
cided cat, it did not take him long to make 
up his mind what to do. He ran to the low 
rail of the yacht, put his forepaws on it, and 
gave us a long, anxious look. Then as the boat 
was shoved off he raised his voice in a plain- 
tive mew. We waved him a good-by, chaffed 
him pleasantly, and told him to mind the an- 
chor, and have dinner ready when we got back. 

That was too much for his temper. As quick 







as a Hash he had dived overboard, and was 
swimming hke a water-spaniel, after the dinghy ! 

That was the strangest tiling we had ever 
seen in all our lives ! We were quite used to ele- 
j)hants that could play at see-saw, and horses 
that could fire cannon, to learned pigs and to 
educated dogs ; but a cat that of his own ac- 
cord would take to the water like a full-blooded 
Newfoundland was a little beyond anything 
we had ever heard of. Of course the boat was 
stopped, and Middy was taken aboard drenched 
and shivering, but perfectly happy to be once 
more with the crew. He had been ignored 
and slighted ; but he had insisted on his 
rights, and as soon as they were recognized 
he was quite contented. 

Of course, after that we were quite prepared 
for anything that Middy might do. And yet he 
always managed to surprise us by his bold and 

independent behavior. Perhaps his most bril- 
liant ])erforniance was a visit he paid a few- 
days after his swim in Camden harbor. 

We were lying becalmed in a lull of the wind 
off the entrance to Southwest Harbor. Near 
us, perhaps a cable's-length away, lay another 
small yacht, a schooner hailing from Lynn. 
As we drifted along on the tide, we noticed 
that Middy was growing very restless; and 
presently we found him running along the rail 

and looking eagerly toward the other yacht. 
What did he see — or smell — over there which 
interested him ? It could not he the dinner, for 
they were not then cooking. Did he recognize 

any of his old chums from Marblehead ? Per- 
haps there were some cat friends of his on the 
other craft. Ah, that was it 1 There they were 
on the deck, playing and frisking together, — 
two kittens ! Middy had spied them, and was 
longing to take a nearer look. He ran up and 
down the deck, mewing and snuffing the air. 
He stood up in his favorite position vi'hen on 
lookout, with his forepaws on the rail. Then, 
before we realized what he was doing, he had 
[jlunged overboard again, and was making for 
the other boat as fast as he could swim ! He 
had attracted the attention of her company, 
and no sooner did he come up alongside than 
they prepared to welcome him. A fender was 
lowered, and when Middy saw it he swam 
toward it, caught it with his forepaws, clam- 
bered along it to the gunw-ale, and in a twink- 
ling was over the side and on the deck .scraping 
acquaintance with the strange kittens. 

How they received him I hardly know, for by 
that time our boat was alongside to claim the 
runaway. And we were quite of the mind of 
the skipper of the " Winnie L.," who .said, as he 
handed our bold midshipman over the side, 
" Well, that beats all wy going a-fishing ! " 

Only a day or two later Middy was very 
disobedient when we were washing decks one 
morning. He trotted about in the wet till his 
feet were drenched, and then retired to <lr)- 
them on the white sj^reads of the berths below. 
That was (|uite too much for the captain's pa- 




tience. Middy was summoiKxi aft, and, after 
a sound rating, was hustled into the dinghy 
which was moored astern, and shoved off to 
the full length of her painter. The punish- 
ment was a severe one for Middy, who could 
bear anything better than exile from his be- 
loved shipmates. So of course he began to ex- 
ercise his ingenious little brain to see how he 
could escape. Well under the overhang of the 




large rock as a rest for his rillc, and opened 
fire upon his target. At the first shot or two 
Middy seemed a little surprised, but showed 
no disposition to run away. After the first 
few rounds, however, he seemed to have 
made up his mind that since the captain 
was making all that racket it must be entirely 
right and proper, and nothing about which a 
cat need bother his head in the least. So, as 
if to show how entirely he confided in the ca[)- 
tain's judgment and good intentions, that im- 
perturbable cat calmly lay down, curled up, 
and went to sleep in the shade of the rock 
over which the captain's rifle was blazing and 
cracking about once in two minutes. If any- 
body was ever acquainted with a cooler or more 
self-possessed cat I should be pleased to hear 
the particulars. 

I wish that this chronicle could be confined 
to nothing but our shipmate's feats of daring and 
nerve. But, unfortunately, he was not always 
blameless in his conduct. When he got hungry 
he was apt to forget his position as midshipman, 
and to behave just like any cat with an empty 
stomach. Or perhaps he may have done just 
what any hungry midshipman would under the 
circumstances; I do not quite know what a 
midshipman does under all circumstances and 
so I can not say. But here is one of this cat 
midshipman's exploits. One afternoon, on our 

yacht he spied, just about four inches out of 
water, a little shoulder of the rudder. That 
was enough for him. He did not stop to think 
whether he would be any better off there. It 
was a part of the yacht, and that was home. 
So overboard he went, swam for the 
rudder, scrambled on to it, and began 
howling piteously to be taken on deck 
again ; and, being a spoiled and much- 
indulged cat, he was soon rescued from 
his uncomfortable roosting-place and 
restored to favor. 

I suppose I shall tax your powers of 
belief if I tell you many more of 
Middy's doings. But truly he was a 
strange cat, and you may as well be 
patient, for you will not soon hear of 
his equal. The captain was much given 
to rifle-practice, and used to love to 
go ashore and shoot at a mark. On 
one of his trips he allowed Middy to 
accompany him, for the simple reason, "'""'' " ""'" '"' *"" '"""^ ™ sleei'. 

I suppose, that .Middy decided to go, and got way home, we were working along with a head 
on board the dinghy when the captain did. wind and sea toward U'ood Island, a haven for 
Once ashore, the marksman selected a fine many of the small yachts between I'ortland 


J jh 






and ihc Shoals, 'i'lic wind was light and we 
were a little late in making port. But as we 
were all agreed that it would be pleasanter to 
postpone our dinner till we were at anchor, the 
cook was told to keep things warm and wait till 
we were inside the port before he set the table. 
Now, his main dish that day was to be a fine 
piece of baked fish; and, unfortunately, it was 
nearly done when we gave orders to hold back 
the dinner. So he had closed the drafts of his 
little stove, left the door of the oven open, and 
turned into his bunk for a quiet doze, — a thing 
which every good sailor does on all possible 
occasions; for a seafaring life is very uncertain 
in the matter of sleep, and one never quite 
knows when he will lose some, nor how much 
he will lose. So it is well to lay in a good 
stock of it whenever you can. 

It seems that Middy was on watch, and when 
he saw Charlie fast asleep he undertook to 
secure a little early dinner for himself He evi- 
dently reasoned with himself that it was very 
uncertain when we should have dinner and 
he 'd better get his while he could. He quietly 
slipped down to the stove, walked coolly up to 
the oven, and began to help himself to baked 

He must have missed liis aim or made some 
mistake in his management of the business, and, 
by some lucky chance for the rest of us, waked 
the cook. For, the first we knew. Middy came 
flying up the cabin companionway, followed by 
a volley of shoes and spoons and pieces of coal, 
while we could hear Charlie, who was rather 
given to unseemly language when he was ex- 

cited, using tlie strongest word^ in his diction- 
ary about " that thief of a cat !" 

"What 's the matter?" we all shouted at 

"Matter enough, sir!" growled Charlie. 
"That little cat 's eaten up half the fish! It 's 
a chance if you get any dinner to-night, sir." 

You may be very sure that Middy got a 
sound wigging for that trick, but I am afraid 
the captain forgot to deprive him of his rations 
as he threatened. He was much too kind- 

The very next evening Middy startled us 
again by a most remarkable display of cool- 
ness and courage. After a weary thrash to 
windward all day, under a provokingly light 
breeze, we found ourselves under the lee of the 
litde promontory at Cape Neddick, where we 
cast anchor for the night. Our supply of w\ater 
had run very low, and so, just after sunset, two 
of the party rowed ashore in the tender to 
replenish our water-keg, and by special permis- 
sion Middy went with them. 

It took some time to find a well, and by the 
time the jugs were filled it had grown quite 
dark. In launching the boat for the return to 
the yacht, by some ill-luck a breaker caught 
her and threw her back upon the beach. There 
she capsized and spilled out the boys, together 
with their precious cargo. In the confusion of 
the moment, and the hurry of setting matters 
to rights. Middy was entirely forgotten, and 
when the boat again was launched, nobody 
thought to look for the cat. This time every- 
thing went well, and in a few minutes the yacht 
was sighted through the dusk. Then some- 
body happened to think of Middy ! He was 
nowhere to be seen. Neither man remembered 
anything about him after the capsize. There 
was consternation in the hearts of those un- 
lucky wights. To lose Middy was almost like 
losing one of the crew. 

But it was too late and too dark to go back 
and risk another landing on the beach. There 
was nothing to be done but to lea\e poor 
Middy to his fate, or at least to wait until 
morning before searching for him. 

But just as the prow of the boat bumped 
against the fender on the yacht's (juarter, out 
from under the stern sheets came a wet, bedrag- 




gled, shivering cat. who leaped on hijard the 
yacht and hurried below into the warm cabin. 
In that moist adventure in the surf, Middy had 
taken care of himself, rescued himself from a 
watery grave, got on board the boat as soon as 
she was ready, and sheltered himself in the 
warmest corner. .Ml this he had done without 
the least outcry, and without asking any help 
whatever. His self-reliance and courage were 

Well, the pleasant month of cruising drew to 
a close, and it became a question what should 
be done with Middy. We could not think of 
turning him adrift in the cold world, although 
we had no fears but that so bright and plucky 
a cat would make a living anywhere. But we 
wanted to w'atch over his fortunes, and perhaps 
take him on the next cruise with us when lie 
should have become a more settled and digni- 
fied Thomas. Finally, it was decided that he 
should be boarded for the winter with an ar- 
tist. Miss Susan H , a friend of one of our 

party. She wanted a studio-cat, and would 
be particularly pleased to receive so accom- 
plished and traveled a character as Middy. So 
when the yacht was moored to the little wharf 
at Annisquam, where she always ended her 
cruises, and we were packed and ready for our 
journey to Boston, Middy was tucked into a 
basket and taken to the train. He bore the 
confinement with the same good sense which 
had marked all his life with us, though I think 
his feelings were hurt at the lack of confidence 

we showed in him. And, in truth, ue were a 
little ashamed of it ourselves, and when once 
we were on the cars somebody suggested that 
he be released from his prison just to see how 
he would liehave. We might have known he 
would do himself credit. For when he had 
looked over his surroundings, peeped above the 
back of the seat at the pa.ssengers, taken a good 
look at the conductor, and counted the rest of 
the party to see that none of us was missing. 
Middy snuggled down upon the seat, laid his 
head upon the captain's knee and slept all the 
way to Boston. 

That was the last time I ever saw Middy. 
He was taken to his new boarding-place in 
Boylston street, where he lived very pleasantly 
for a few months, and made many friends by his 
pleasing manners and unruffled temper. But I 
suppose he found it a little dull in Boston. He 
was not quite at home in his esthetic surround- 
ings. I have always believed he sighed for the 
freedom of a sailor's life. He loved to sit by 
the open window when the wind was east, and 
seemed to be dreaming of far-away scenes. One 
day he disappeared. No trace of him was ever 
found. A great many things may have hap- 
pened to him. But I never could get rid of the 
feeling that he went down to the wharves and 
the ships and the sailors, trying to find his old 
friends, looking everywhere for the stanch little 
Eyvor ; and, not finding her, I am convinced 
that he shipped on some East Indianian and is 
now a sailor cat on the high seas. 



Bv MAKCAKEr W. Leighton. 

Have you ever thought what hidden beau- 
ties there are in the beings most shunned by 
man ? Professor Huxley says, " The vertebra 
of a snake is the most beautiful piece of anat- 
omy I ever saw." The movement of a snake, 
in the water or on land, is very wonderful and 
a mysterious sight to the unfortunate man whose 
limited acquaintance with nature has not en- 
abled him to solve the riddle. He says, " Here 
is a creature with neither legs, nor wings, nor 
fins, and yet it moves with even more swift- 
ness and grace than most animals which pos- 
sess these means of getting about." How is it 
that this can be ? We will look for a moment 
at the skeleton. We see that it consists merely 
of the skull, the backbone, and the ribs. The 
vertebra; are joined by exquisite ball-and- 
socket joints, and two ribs are attached to each 
vertebra, one on each side. Probably you have 
noticed that the under side of a snake's body 
is covered with crosswise plates, which scienti- 
fic men call scuta. Now, instead of having 
the ribs attached to a breastbone, like the mam- 
mals and lizards, the snake has them attached 
to the scuta, so that, as Miss Hopley says in 
her valuable book on Ophidians, the snake, 
instead of having no legs, really has two for 
each foot. 

There are fifteen species found in Massachu- 
setts. Two of them, the banded rattlesnake 
and the copperhead, are venomous ; but I think 
that, at least in the eastern portion, the copper- 
head has become extinct. Rattlesnakes are 
found in the Blue Hills, which is probably as 
near Boston as one will be likely to see them. 
The common black-snake, Bascaiiioii constrictor, 
whose species name, constrictor, comes from its 
mode of killing its prey, constricting or bmd- 
ing them, — in other words, hugging them to 
death, — is our largest snake, often reaching a 
length of six feet and over. Near my home I 
found a perfect skin of this snake, five feet and 
two inches long. The black-snake often lives 
in stone walls, and is fond of climbing into a 
tree overhanging the water. Here it wra])s a 
few folds about the branches, and watches its 

chance to snap up any nice little frog which 
hops by, a bird, if one alights near enough, or 
perhaps a field-mouse scam|)ering along. This 

so.MKriiiNC Aiiorr sxakks. 


snake has a great deal of euriosity, and is said 
to follow men and beasts long distances ; but 
it retreats instantly if turned ujjon. It is harm- 
less, and shoukl you by chance disturb or tread 
upon it, the worst it would do would probably 
be to wrap a few folds about your legs, or 
stick out its tongue, or possibly give you a 
slight bite. 

One of the handsomest of our snakes is the 
checkered adder, chicken-snake, or thunder- 
and-lightning snake, as it is variously styled. 
The title of chicken-snake comes from its al- 
leged fondness for sucking eggs. 
The accusation may or may not 
be true ; but I found one in a half 
torpid condition, one early spring 
day, in a hen-house. 

You may have seen the striped or 
garter-snakes of which two species 
inhabit Massachusetts, the smaller 
being called the swift garter-snake. 
The larger one is at home alike 
on land and water. I have often 
seen them catching grasshoppers; 
and here I must stop a moment 
to tell you of the strange way this 
snake has of eating. When he 
catches a grasshopper or little 
frog, he opens his jaws so wide 
that they are actually out of joint. 
Having taken his food into his 
mouth, he readjusts the jaws, 
holds the animal for some time, 
so that it may become thoroughly 
moistened, and then, with a mighty 
gulp, swallows it. The handsom- 
est snake in my collection is a 
garter-snake brought to me, by a 
friend, from Canada, where they 
grow larger and finer than in New 

.\e.Kt in size to the racer, or 
black-snake, comes the red-bellied 
water-snake. He is a rough-looking fellow, 
owing to each of his scales having a little keel 
or ridge in the middle. 

One warm still day in .April I was walking 
along the shores of a small ])()nd, hoping 
1 should see some signs of the snakes wak- 
ing from their long winter's nap. Suddenly 1 

stopped. Could those enormous gray-black 
coils about the roots of that little oak-tree be 
the body of a snake ? I touched them with 
the handle of my long net; instantly the crea- 
ture thrust forth a wicked-looking head. How 
wicked were those fixed, glittering eyes! I stood 
spellbound, experiencing at once the over-power- 
ing fear, mis- J^/-' taken for fascination, 
which snakes '«/'lft are said to cause in 
all other liv- Jl M ing creatures. Here 
was a snake, 1B0^ v>kh neither fangs nor 
poison - sacs, Am which ditl not con- 


strict, and yet I felt that he had the ])0wer to 
kill me instantly, should he choose to do so. 

I have since come to the conclusion that this 
reptile was the grandfather of the tribe of red- 
bellied water-snakes which inhaliit that pond. 
They are very numerous hereabouts, and the 
young and half-grown ones ha\ e beautiful light- 

/ ^- 

colorcd liaiuls, like rings, about their bodies. As 
they swim along, with their heads just above the 
surface, these bars look like sunbeams striking 
across the back. I never had succeeded in 
capturing any but small specimens of this 




snake, and, as I wanted a good one, with the 
bright-red color on the under side of the body, 
which is not attained until he has grown quite 
large, I started out with my can, net, and thick 
gantlet glove, determined to secure a large 
one if I could. 

In the middle of the pond were the remnants 
of an old raft. I counted five snakes and two 
turtles sunning themselves thereon. " I '11 have 

one of those before I go home ! " I said to my- 
self. I threw some stones, hitting the raft and 
scattering its occupants into the water. I waited 
a long time after this, watching a snake snap up 
little frogs, and all at once it occurred to me 
that possibly I myself might make use of a 
frog for bait. I saw a dead one floating near 
the bank. Only a few feet out was a large flat 
rock. I manat^ed to reach this drv-shod, and. 


rV, -A 

stooping, dropped my frog gently into the head coming to\v:inl the bait. I lay flat on the 
water, ^[y heart thrilled as 1 saw a little dark rock and held my gloved hand ready. Nearer 


he came and nearer, and wlien he seemed to 
be within rencii 1 made a (|uick phinge to my 
elbow — only some weeds were chitclied tight 
bctuecn my fmgers. Another hour of long, 
patient waiting, and the coveted ])rize came 
once more to the surface. 'I'liis time I 
brouglit him up in. Iriumiili, twisting and 

!\ly only rattlesnake was caught alive l)y a 
young girl who had that summer killed eleven 
on her farm in California. This snake has five 
rattles, which, if we believe they denote the age, 
will show that he is five years old. Darwin 
believed that the rattle, besides being used as 
a warning to keep off the 
snakes' enemies, some- 
times is employed to call 
their mates. 

The heads of most of 
the venomous snakes, 
including the "rattlers" 
bulge just beyond the 
neck. Without excep- 
tion they have fang.s, 
either always erect, or 
raised and laid back 
at will. These fangs 
are long, sharp-pointed 
teeth, with a hollow 
groove running their 
entire length. At the 
root of each fang is a 
little bag of poison. 
When the snake bites, 
the motion presses the 

poison-sac, and its contents flows down through 
the hollow in the tooth into the puncture or 
wound. The harmless little forked tongue is 
often spoken of by the uninformed as the snake's 
" stinger." Now, there is no propriety in the 
name, as the poisonous snakes do not sting, 
but bite, their victims. There is no creature, 
even if brought from foreign countries where 
"rattlers" do not exist, but will halt and tremble 
at the first warning .sound of the rattle. 

Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, with others, has been 
making experiments with the venom of different 
serpents. He has found that, aside from its 
poisonous qualities, it contains living germs, 
which have the ])Owcr of increasing enor- 



mously fast. So, you see, when an animal is 
bitten, tiny bits of life, entering with the 
poison, cause harmful action to begin almost at 
once. Dr. Mitchell has found that the nervous 
I enter controlling the act of striking seems 
lo be in the spinal cord, for if he cut off a 
snake's head, and then pinched its tail, the 
stump of its neck turned back, and would have 
struck his hand had he been bold enough to 
hold it still. 

When a snakt' has bitten several times, the 
poison is quite exhausted for the time being, 
rendering the animal comparatively harmless. 
It is said to be this fact which enables the 

,v40>A Rue, 

Indian snake-charmers to 
handle their charges without 
danger. They tease them 
into anger, when they will 
readily bite a stick or bundle 
of rags, and so exhaust their venom. Perhaps it 
will be well here to say a few words more in 
regard to snake-charmers. Many kinds of ser- 
pents, especially the hooded cobra of India, 
are thought to be affected by music. In cap- 
turing them for exhibition, the Indian takes his 
bagpipe, and, stationing himself near an old 
well or ruin, begins to play. A cobra is almost 
certain to make its appearance soon, for they 
are very numerous in that country. Tjiey are 
held in sacred reverence, the little children 
calling them " ITncle," and setting saucers of 
milk for them to drink; and they are looked 
u]ion as guardian angels. Should one be 
killed die sla\er would sufier death in punish- 

.s,.- I 

tncnt. As ilic music of ilie 
falls, tne snake seems to sway 
and, all unconscious, is seized 
confederate. In this state 
of musical excitement the 
snakes are said to be quite 
safe to handle, although , 
I think 1 should not care 
to ti'v it m\self 

A man has lately been 
making investigations on 
this subject at the Lon- 
don Zoological Gardens. 
He hired a violinist, nm 
together tlie\- went to the 

s(i\ii iiiim; about snakks. 735 

hagpipe rises and lirmolo it putTed its liody out ; the violin sud- 

slowly to and fro, denly produced the sound of bagpipes, which, 

by the musician's greatly excited the snake ; . . . soft minor 

chords were then played and a sudden 

sharp discord struck without warning. 

1 lie snake flinched whenever this was 

ne as if it had been struck." This 

seems to show that the snakes liave a 

highly sensitive nervous-organization. 

Ihe Indians say that this .snake u.sed 

to have seven heads, but now it has 

nl) one, and that its hood is the rem- 

n mt of the other six. 

Ihe African cobra is regarded some- 
\\h\t (lifferentlv li\- Ihe nnti\-es of that 

m-^'' :-., a., 


serpents' ()uarters. He says: "We selected 
for our serenade a large yellow Indian cobra, 
which was lying coiled up asleep on the gravel 
at the bottom of his cage. At the first note 
of the violin the snake instantly raised its 
head, and fixed its bright yellow eye with a 
set gaze on the little door at the back of the 
cage, whence the sound came. The music then 
became gradually louder, and the snake raised 
itself in traditional attitude, on its tail, and 
spread its hood, slowly oscillating from one side 
to the other, as the violin played in waltz-time. 
There was a most strangely interested look in 
the cobra's eye and attitude at this time, and the 
slightest change in the volume or character of 
the music was met by an instantaneous change 
in the movement or poise of the snake. .\t the 

country, who, once a year, kill a cobra-de-ca])ello 
and hang its skin to the branch of a tree, tail 
downward. Then all the children born dur- 
ing the past year are brought out and made to 
touch the skin. This, their parents think, puts 
them under the serpent's protection. The cobra- 
de-capello divides with the horned viper of 
Africa the questionable honor of being the 
" worm of Nile," to venomous tooth 
Cleopatra's death was due. 

The Kafirs use the venom of this snake's 
cousin, the puflf-adder, to poi.son their arrows ; 
and when they have any small quantity left 
they swallow it, having a theory that it will 
protect them from the bad effects of future 

Tin: Sn:ike 'I'rilie of tiio Punjab say that the 


bites of snakes ilo not luirt them; and if tiie\' 
find a dead serpent, they dress it in clothes and 
give it a superb funeral. 

Some one has discovered that the leaves of 
a bitter aromatic plant, AristolocJaa Iridica, if 
bruised into a pulp, mixed with a little water, 
and swallowed, will often cure the bite of the 
Indian cobra. It has been known to cure even 
when the victim showed no .sign of life save 
warmth of the body; but the most general 
remedy is the snake-.stone. Professor Faraday 
has found this to be made of charred bone. It 
is applied to a bite, and when it drops off of 
its own accord, the patient is said to be out of 
danger. These stones are used also in Mexico. 

Our own North American Indians will not 
kill a snake in their path. They hold it in rc\ - 
erence, and although they select great numbers 
of them to use in their snake-dances, they never 
kill them, but, when the ceremony is finished, 
take them out on the plains and release them. 

fine, sharp, and pointing backward ; so you 
see it would be very hard for a small ahimal, 
once caught, to escape after these teeth have 
fastened on hiin. If any teeth are broken or 
injured, they are replaced by new ones. 

Snakes shed their teeth, now and then, as 
they shed their skins. Many of our wild birds 
use the snake-skins in nest-building. 

In the fall, when the leaves begin to tuni, 
and before the first frost comes, our snakes 
collect in numbers, from three or four to a 
dozen or more, roll themselves in balls, in a 
hole in the ground or in a hollow tree, and 
there they remain in a state of hibernation, or 
deep sleep, through the winter. They can live 
for a long time without food. 

Some Zuhi Indians from New Mexico, with 
whom I l)ecame acquainted, refused to rc])cat 
their folklore out of doors for fear the rattle- 
snakes would hear. 

A few words, now, as to the habits of snakes 
in general. All snakes, poisonous or otherwise, 
with the exception of the Anodon family, have 
two rows of teeth on the roof of the mouth. 

C)ne day, as I was putting a snake I had 
caught into a can that I carried for the pur- 
pose, a lady, hunting for botanical specimens, 
stopped and regarded me some moments in 
silence. Then slie asked me w'hat I was going 
to do with it. I answered, " Preserve it." 
Upon which she asked, " Do they make good 


(A I'itU of Treasure Trme in the Streets of Ne-.i> York.) 
Bv Ukanlier Mauhkws. 

gun in Ihc Xorcuiber nnmbir. ] 

Chai'ter XVIII. 

R. RAP.\.LLO re- 
ported to Tom that 
the title to the va- 
cant block was still 
in dispute. 

" There 's no 
knowing," he said, 
•' when that law- 
suit will be settled. 
It has been going 
on for seventeen years now, and everybody in- 
terested in it has come to hate everybody else ; 
and so they ])ersist in fighting like the ' Kilkenny 
cats.' " 

"Then we can't get permission to look for the 
two thousand guineas ? " Tom asked, anxiously. 
" We shall have to do without permission," 
Uncle Dick replied. '■ .And I suppose that we 
shall be trespassers when we go into that vacant seemed to have little or nothing to do, and on 
block to dig up your great-grandfather's gold." the other days he was apparently full of en- 
" It is n't our fault that our money is there," gagements. Knowing that Tom was free from 
said Tom. his duties only on Saturday afternoon, he ar- 

" No," his uncle responded. '• It is n't our ranged to have that time free. 
fault, and it is n't the fault of the first owner About three o'clock on the Saturday before 
of the money ; whereas if the first owner of the Decoration Day, he and Tom walked over to 

intcrru[ited. " I don't think it w ill matter what 
we [lut it in." 

'• I 've asked I'olly to make mc four bags, 
just the same numlier tlie money was in when 
my great-grandfather had it," said Tom. " Of 
course, I did n't tell her what I wanted them 
for; I don't believe in trusting women with 
secrets. Do you, Uncle Dick ? " 

Mr. Rapallo smiled. ■' As I 've told you 
before," he answered, " the best way to keep 
your secret safe is to keep it all to yourself. 
That 's one reason I have n't told you yet how 
I propose to get the water for our hydraulic 
mining. But come out with me on Saturday 
afternoon, and I will show you how I mean to 
manage it." 

Since his return from his journey, Mr. Ra- 
pallo had settled down into his old way of life 
at his sister's house. He was still irregular and 
erratic in his comings and goings. \\'hen he 
went out in the morning, the household never 
knew when he would return. Some days he 

land had exercised proper care over it, he 
would have refused to harbor on it the body 
of a thief laden with stolen goods." 

'■ When we find the gold," Tom asked, " do 
\ou think the bags in which it was tied will 
still be there, or will they have rotted away ? " 

'• I should n't wonder if the bags would be 
gone," Mr. Rapallo replied. 

" That 's what I thought," Tom continued ; 
"and so I have bought some bagging. It 's 
coarse, but it 's very strong — and I don't think 
we need care about the looks — " 

" If the gold looks all right," Uncle Dick 
Vol. XIX. — 47. 7 

the vacant block where the stepping-stones 
were, for a final examination before they should 
attempt to find the buried treasure. 

The vacant block was of dimensions common 
enough in New- York. It was about two hun- 
dred feet wide from street to street, and nearly a 
thousand feet long from avenue to avenue. The 
stepping-stones were on the northern side of the 
block about one third way from the eastern 
end ; and over them projected the tongue of 
made land which had been filled in mainly with 
builder's rubbish. The original level of the 
ground sloped sharply from the cast to the 



west, as the brook had coursed briskly along, 
hastening away to the Hudson River. 

Mr. Rapallo and Tom were pleased to find, 
what they had never noted before, perhaps 
because the entrance to it was overrun with 
brambles, that a culvert had been left to carry 
oft' the waters of the brook, which must, then, 
have been flowing, when the avenue on the 
western end of the block had been carried 
across, high in the air above the original level 
of the land thereabouts. 

The brook, still easily to be traced by the 
stunted willows that once lined its bank, had 
dried up years before Tom and his uncle 
tramped along its bed; but the culvert had 
survived the stream. 

'• It is a piece of good fortune," said Mr. 
Rapallo, '• that the old outlet of the stream is 
still here. It will serve to take away the water ; 
and now we need not fear that we shall not 
have fall enough to carry off the waste we shall 
wash out of the bank." 

"But where are you going to get the water?" 
asked Tom. 

" Come and see," his uncle answered, leading 
the way from the sunken lots up the bank to 
the street level. 

The stepping-stones were perhajis three hun- 
dred feet from the northeast corner of the 
block, and the tongue of land above them pro- 
jected perhaps fifty or sixty feet into the hollow 
sunken lot. 

Mr. Rapallo took Tom along the sidewalk 
of the street which bounded the block on the 
south, and they followed it until they came 
opposite the stepping-stones. 

" Here," he said, laying his hand on a sort 
of iron post which rose from the sidewalk at 
the edge of the gutter, " what is this ?" 

" That 's a hydrant," replied Tom ; " that 's 
to supply water to the engines when there 's 
a fire." 

"Then why should n't it supjjly us with the 
water we need ? " his uncle asked. 

" Well," Tom hesitated a moment, " I sup- 
pose it would, perhaps. I don't see why it 
should n't. But how are you going to get a 
key to turn it on ? " 

" I 've got it already," .Mr. Rapallo answered, 
taking the key from his pocket. 

" Oh ! " cried Tom. " But how are you going 
to get hose to fit this hydrant, and to reach 'way 
across the block here ? " 

" I 've ordered that," L'ncle Dick rei)lied. " I 
saw that you had done all the thinking over 
this problem and had worked it out for your- 
self, so I determined to help you all I could. 
I was n't going to see you fail for want of a 
little aid when you needed it most." 

" Uncle Dick, I — " began Tom. 

" I know all about it," said his uncle, check- 
ing Tom's thanks with a kindly pat on the 
shoulder. " You need n't say another word." 

" But — " the boy began again. 

" But me no buts," laughed Mr. Rapallo, " or 
I will not tell you anything about the hose I 
have ordered. There will be one section about 
forty feet long, like fire-engine hose, and made 
to fit this hydrant. Then 1 shall have per- 
haps a hundred and twenty-five feet of ordi- 
nary garden hose, with a valve and joint so 
that we can fasten it to the end of the larger 

" Won't the ditterence in size hinder us ? " 
Tom inquired. 

" I think not," his uncle answered. " The 
reduction in the section of the tube through 
which the water is delivered ought to increase 
the force of the current as it leaves the nozle — 
and that is just what we want. The one thing 
that I am afraid of is that the common or gar- 
den hose won't be able to stand the strain put 
on it. But we shall have to take our chances 
as to that." 

" Is the hose ready ? " asked Tom. 

" It is to be delivered at the house to-night," 
Mr. Rapallo replied. 

" But then Polly will want to know w hat it 
is," Tom suggested promptly. 

"And I shall not tell her," Unrlc Dick de- 
clared ; " at least, I shall tell her only that it is 
something for me." 

" Well," Tom continued, " I supjjose that she 
won't dare to ask you too many questions. But 
she '11 be wild to know what it is." 

On their way home Tom asked his uncle 
what time he thought would be the be>i to 
begin work on Decoration Day morning. 

" The .sooner the better," Mr. Rapallo rejjlied. 

" Before breakfast ? " Tom inquired. 




" Befort' daybreak ! " his uncle answered ; 
" that is to say, it ought to be Hght enough for 
us to work soon after four o'clock, as the sun 
rises at half-past four." 

" Oh ! " said Tom, feeling iliat here was an 
added new experience for him, as he had never 
in his life been out of the house before six 
o'clock in the morning. 

" We must get our work done before an) - 
body is stirring about," Mr. Rapallo explained. 
" That 's our only chance of doing what we 
have to do without fear of interruption. \Ve 
don't want to have a crowd about us when 
we are playing the hose on that pile of earth 
there; and I think that hydraulic mining in the 
streets of New York is novelty enough to draw 
a crowd pretty quickly, even in this part of the 
city. Fortunately, there is hardly a house near 
enough to the place where we are going to mine 
to make it likely that we shall disturb any one 
so early in the morning. Besides, we sha'n't 
make much noise." 

" It 's a good thing that there is n't a station 
of the elevated railroad on either of the streets 
that go past the place," Tom remarked. " There 
are people coming and going to the stations at 
all hours of the night, so Cissy tells me. His 
house is just by a station." 

" I do not think any one is likely to see us at 
work unless he suspects what we are up to," 
said Uncle Dick. " By the way, is there any 
danger from that inquisitive boy you used to 
call Corkscrew ? " 

" No," Tom answered. " I don't believe 
Corkscrew Lott will be up at half-past four — 
or at half-past six either." 

•' I hope we shall have our job done before 
six," said Mr. Rapallo. 

'• Of course,"' Tom continued, " Corkscrew 
would get up overnight if he thought he could 
pry out anything. But I don't believe that he 
will bother us this time, because he is kept abed 
with a sprained ankle." 

"Then we need not worry about him," Uncle 
Dick remarked. 

'• I heard that he was better this morning," 
Tom added doubtfully. " Perhaps he '11 be out 
by Decoration Day." 

" I do not believe that there is much chance 
of this Corkscrew's bothering us ; and if he 

docs, why — there will be time enough to at- 
tend to him then," Mr. Rapallo replied. 

And when the time came. Uncle Dick was 
able to attend to him. 

On Monday, Tom told C'issy Smith and 
Harry Zachary that all was ready to begin work 
the next morning. Decoration Day came on a 
Tuesday that year. 

" Shucks ! " cried Cissy, " that lets me out. 
Father will want to know where I 'm going, if I 
try to get out of the house ' in the morning 
by the bright light,' as you want me to." 

" ,\nd my mother would never let me go," 
said Harry Zachary ; " at least not without 
asking awkward questions." 

" I told Uncle Dick that I did n't believe 
you two fellow^s could get oft"; and he said 
he 'd settle that." 

" Father would settle me," Cissy declared, 
" if he caught me at it." 

" Uncle Dick is going to ask Dr. Smith if 
you can't spend to-night with me so that we 
can all go oft" on an expedition with him in 
the morning." 

" Then I guess it '11 be all right," Cissy ad- 
mitted. " My father sets store by your uncle. 
He knew him out in Denver, you know, and 
he thinks a lot of him." 

" And how about me ? " asked Harry Zachary. 

" Uncle Dick 's fixed that too," Tom ex- 
plained. " He 's going to get my mother to 
write to your mother inviting you over to our 
house to spend the night." 

" I reckon that '11 do it," responded Harry. 

" Uncle Dick 's going to take Cissy into his 
room ; and you are to sleep with me, Harry," 
said Tom. 

" I don't believe ue shall sleep much," Cissy 
declared ; " we .shall be too excited to sleep." 

" Napoleon used to slumber soundly before 
his biggest and bloodiest battles," Harry Zach- 
ary remarked reflectively ; " and I reckon it 's 
a good habit to get into." 

As it happened, the boys went to bed far 
earlier than they had expected. Mr. Rapallo 
succeeded in arranging with Dr. Smith that 
Cissy should be left in his charge for one night, 
and Mrs. Zachary intrusted her son to Mrs. 
Paulding — to whom llncle Dick gave no rea- 
son for the invitation nther than that he was go- 

740 TOM I'AULniXG. 

ing lo talvc the three hoys out on an ex])eiHtion, 
and that they would see the sun rise. 

When Polly heard this, she wanted to go 
too. But Mr. Rapallo tactfully suggested a 
variety of reasons why she should not join the 
party ; and some one of them must have struck 
the little girl as adecjuate, for she did not renew 
her request. 

After supper — (luring which meal it had been 
very difficult for the three boys to refrain from 
discus.sing the subject they were all thinking 
about — Mr. Rapallo gave them each a coil of 
hose, and they set out for the vacant block. 
There was more hose than could conveniently 
be carried at once by the four of them. So they 
took about half of it the evening before, and 
left it in the open air, half hidden under the 
bushes. There was no moon, and Mr. Rapallo 
thought that it would be perfectly safe to trust 
the hose at night in a place where nobody was 
likely to go. 

When they had returned to the house it was 
barely eight o'clock, but Uncle Dick promptly 
sent the boys off to bed; — or rather, he led 
the way himself, answering their protests by 
the assertion that they would need all the sleep 
they could get. He declared that he was not 
going to have his workmen too slee])y to see 
what they were about in the morning. 

He set them the example himself, and all 
four were sound asleep before nine o'clock. 

They had had nearly seven hours' slumber 
when Mr. Rapallo roused them. In the gray 
dawn — which struck them as being colder and 
darker than they had expected — the boys 
dressed themselves hastily. They gladly ate 
the bread and butter that Uncle Dick had 
ready for them ; and each drank a glass or two 
of milk. 

Then they crept softly down-stairs and out 
into the garden. Mr. Rapallo divided the rest 
of the hose among them, and took as his own 
load three light spades and a pickax. 

Thus the procession set out. Tom's heart 
had already begun to beat with alternating 
hopes and doubts ; he was in haste to get at 
the work and to find the buried treasure as 
soon as might be. Cissy Smith and Harry 
Zachary had a boyish delight in the pleasantly 
romantic tlavor of the adventure. To them it 


was as if they were knights-errant going to a 
rescue, or scouts setdng out on a scalp-hunt, 
or, perhaps, pirates making ready for a sea- 
fight against a Spanish galleon laden with 
doubloons. Harry Zachary's imagination was 
the more active ; but in his own way Cissy 
Smith took quite as much enjoyment in the 

Chapter XIX. 


HEY walked on as 
the gray dawn was 
breaking with a 
faint, rosy tinge in 
the eastern sky. 
Two abreast, they 
bore with them the 
implements of their 
new craft. Tied in 
a bundle and slung 
over his shoulder, Tom had also the bags in 
which to put the buried treasure. 

When they had come to the vacant block, 
they set down part of the hose on the sidewalk. 
The rest they carried with them down the steep 
sides of the lot. 

The first thing Tom and Mr. Rapallo did 
was to make sure that the things which had 
been brought overnight were still there. Ap- 
parently no one had touched these i probably 
no one had even seen them. 

" Now, boys," cried Uncle Dick, " I '11 go to 
work and get the hose ready, while you dig me 
a trench to carry off the water and the waste 
it will wash down." 

The stepping-stones crossed what had been 
the middle of a wide pool into which the 
brook had broadened. A little below, the 
ground sloped away sharply. As Tom be- 
lieved that the remains of Jeflrey Kerr lay at the 
bottom of the pool, covered with sand, it was 
needful to reinove not only the later rubbish, 
shot down from the street when the projecting 
tongue of land was made out into the block, 
but also to get a fall of water sufficient to carry 
off the sand at the bottom of the pool. 

Fortunately, this was not a difficult task. By 
digging a trench a foot wide around a rock 
which had retarilcd the stream, and by carry- 




ing it along less than twenty feet, the natural lile tube more tlian a hmidred and fifty feet 

declivity of the ground would then bear the long, with the liydrant at one end and a broad 

water o(T to the open culvert at the end of the nozle at the other. 

block. When he had thus pre])ared the hose for its 
Mr. Rapallo consulted with the boys as to work, he went over to the trench to see how 
the best course of this little trench. Then he the boys were getting on. By this time the sun 
roughly traced its path with the point of the had risen and was visible, a dull-red ball glow- 
pick, loosening the earth here and there where ing in the east and slowly climbing the .sky. 

it .seemed more than ordinarily compact. They 
set to work with the spades he had brought, 
while he went over to make ready the hose. 
The sections of common kind were first un- 
rolled and stretched out across the block from 
the point of attack toward the hydrant. He 
screwed them firmly together. Then he went 
up to the hydrant and fastened to it the section 
of heavier hose, to the lower end of which was 
affixed a screw-joint to receive the end of the 
garden hose. I5y the aid of this, Mr. Rapallo 
joined the two kinds ; and he had then a flcxi- 

" Are you all ready?'' cried Tom, as his 
imcle came up. 

" I can turn on the water now if vou ha\c 
the trench done," was the answer. 

The boys had followed the line Mr. Rapallo 
had traced, and, working with the eagerness and 
enthusiastic strength of youth, they had dug a 
ditch both broader and deeper than he had de- 
clared to be necessary. 

"That 's excellent," .said Uncle Dick, when 
he saw what they had done. " It could n't be 


"Shall wc kimrk c iff now?" asked Cissy. 

■■ \'ou need n't do anything more to the 
tiench," Mr. Rapallo answered. "That is just 
right, (lather up the spades and take them 
out of the way of the water." 

Then as they drew back he explained what 
he proposed next. What they needed to do was 
to lay bare the original surtace of the pool by 
the stepping-stones. To do that they would 
have to wash out a hole in the bank at least 
twenty feet broad, perhaps fifteen high, and 
certainly ten feet deep. 

"Can you do that with the hose?" asked 
Cissy, doubtfully. 

" I think so," Mr. Rapallo answered. " Luckily 
we shall have a strong head of water. Owing to 
the work on the new aqueduct, part of the sup- 
ply for this portion of the city has been shut off 
below us for three or four days, so that here- 
abouts there is a very full pressure. What I 'm 
most in doubt about is whether this small hose 
will stand it. We might as well find out as soon 
as possible. Tom, you can take this key and 
turn on the hydrant up there." 

Tom hastily grasped the key, and sprang 
away across the open space. In a minute he 
had climbed to the street and turned f>n the 

Mr. Rapallo seized the hose by the long brass 
nozle and stood pointing it firmly toward the 
bank of earth before him. As Tom opened the 
valve of the hydrant, the long line of hose stiff- 
ened and filled out. There was a whishing of 
air out of the nozle as the water rushed into 
the flexible tube. At the juncture of the larger 
hose with the smaller the joint was not tight, 
and a fine spray filled the air. 

" Let 's see if you can tighten that," cried 
Mr. Rapallo to Cissy, who ran back at once 
and succeeded in nearly .stopping the leak. 

Then the smaller hose distended to the utmost. 
But Mr. Rapallo's fears were groundless, for it 
was stanch and stood the strain. 

It seemed but a second after Tom had turned 
the handle of the hydrant that a stout stream of 
water gushed solidly froin the end of the pipe 
and curved in a powerful arch toward tlie bank 
before them. 

Uncle Dick turned llie stream upnTi the lower 
end of the trench the boys had dug, and in a 

minute he had washed it out to double its former 
capac it)-. 

On his way back Tom joined Cissy and as- 
sisted him to tighten the valve which united the 
two kinds of hose. Harry Zachary had been 
helping Mr. Rapallo to get the end of the tube 



into working order, ad- 
justing the curves and 
straightening it, so the 
utmost force of water 
might be available. 

When he had washed "'"(see'Vage^"744.T" 
out their trench, Mr. 

Rapallo raised the nozle and carefully directed 
die stream full at the center of the bank be- 
fore him, striking it at what had been the level 
of the ground before the filling in. The water 
plunged into the soft earth, and in less than five 
minutes it had washed out a large cave five or 
six feet deep. 

Then Uncle Dick brcuight the force of the 
current again into the ditch which had partly 
filled up. The stream, adroitly applied first 
at the lower end, swept out the trench as if 
a giant were at work on it with a huge broom. 

Turning the water again on the bank of 
earth, Mr. Rapallo loosened the overhanging 
roof of the cavern he had first made, and it fell 
in soft heaps as the stream bored its way into 
the mound of earth. The hose removed the 
dirt faster than a do/en men could have shov- 

cicd il away; and a little attention now and 
then served to spread the washed out stufil' 
over the low-er part of the vacant block, leaving 
open a channel by which the water could 
make its escape to the culvert. 

Minute by minute the cavity in the tongue 
of made land grew larger and larger, and the 
rubbish dumped there — ashes, builder's dirt, 
even old bits of brick and odds and ends of 
broken plaster — seemed to melt away under 
the impact of the curving current of water. 

The sun slowly rose, and its early rays fell 
on this bending fountain, which sparkled as if 
it were a string of diamonds. As yet not a sin- 
gle passer had disturbed them at their work. 
Hut now and again the rattle of an early milk- 
cart could be heard in the morning quiet. 

Once, when the bulk of the earth to be re- 
moved was nearly gone, Harry Zachary tapped 
Mr. Rapallo on the shoulder and pointed to 
the avenue on the west of them. Uncle Dick 
turned off the flow at once and in the silence 
they heard the wagon of a market-gardener 
come rumbling toward them. Mr. Rapallo 
raised his hand, and they all sheltered them- 
selves hastily under the shadow of the bank 
until the intruder had passed on out of hearing. 

As Uncle Dick turned on the water again he 
said, '• We 've been very- lucky, so far. But 
as soon as we get this first job done I think we 
had better put out sentinels." 

In a few minutes more the heap of dirt was 
washed away and the original level of the 
ground was laid bare up to the edge of the tall 
rock by the side of which Tom hoped to find 
his great-grandfather's guineas. 

Uncle Dick thoroughly cleaned out the 
trench again and then turned off the stream. 

'• Now, Tom," he said, " here we 've got down 
to the surface of the soil as it used to be. We 
are now standing on what was the bottom of 
the brook before it dried up. Where had we 
best begin on this?" 

" Here," Tom answered, pointing to the base 
of the tall rock. " At least it seems to me that 
if a man tried to cross on those stepping-stones 
there, and got washed off by tlie Ijrook, his body 
would be carried into the pool there, and then 
it would be rolled over and over and nearer 
and nearer to that rock." 

TOM I'AULiuxr.. 743 

'•Well," I'nclc Diik returned,"! think that's 
the place, myself. Hut we must clear away 
here so that the water can get in its fine work." 
He took the pickax and loosened a few 
stones and pried them out. The boys opened 
another trench leading down to the first ditch. 

When this was done, Mr. Rapallo said, " We 
shall know in ten minutes now whether Tom 
has located his mine properly, or whether the 
claim is to be abandoned." 

Tom was excited, and his voice shook as he 
answered, " Go ahead. Uncle Dick ; the sooner 
I know the better." 

" I think we ought to have outposts," Mr. 
Rapallo declared. " Cissy, will you keep your 
eyes open for any one approaching from the 
south or east ? Harry, you take charge of the 
north side and the west. Tom, stay with me." 

This last admonition was hardly necessary, 
as it would have been diflicult to make Tom 
inove a step just then. 

Cissy went back to the left of the grou]) ami 
looked about him. Harry withdrew a little to 
the right. But the fascination of expectancy 
was upon them both, and they kept a most 
negligent watch. They had eyes only for the 
stream of water, as Mr. Rapallo turned it on 
again and as it tore its way into the compact 
sand which had formed the bottom of the 
brook. Only now and again did they recall 
their appointed duties, and then they would 
give but a hasty glance around. 

The current of water washed out the edge of 
the bottom of the pool, and Mr. Rapallo was 
able to expose a depth of fully five feet, into 
which the stream was steadily eating its way. 

.\s the open space approached nearer and 
nearer to the tall rock at the base of which 
Tom hoped to find the buried treasure, his 
heart began to beat, and he pressed forward in 
his eagerness to be the first to see whatever 
might have been hidden in the sand of the 

When about two yards remained between 
the tall rock and the widening breach made by 
the water, he thought he caught sight of some- 
thing white. With a cry he sprang forward, 
and just at that moment the stream washed 
away the sand which had concealed the bones 
of a human foot and leg. 

744 T'^'^' rAULDiNr,. 

At that momriit there came a whistle from 
Cissy Smith : 

In a second, as it seemed, this was followed 
by a second warning from Harry Zachary : 

Involuntarily, Tom whistled the answer: 

Then he looked at Cissy, who was ])ointing to 
the figure of a man standing on the sidewalk 
behind them, within a yard of the hydrant. 

Mr. Rapallo looked also, and then waved 
his hand. The man waved back. 

" That 's all right," said Uncle Dick. 

Something in the man's gesture seemed fa- 
miliar to Tom as he saw it indistinctly in 
the growing light of the morning. 

" Is n't that the Old Gentleman who leaned 
over the Wall? " he asked. 

"Yes," his uncle replied. "And is n't that 
your friend Corkscrew?" he continued, indi- 
cating a tall figure in high boots who was 
then advancing out on the tongue of made 
land before them. 

{To he a 

This was the stranger Harry Zachary had 
seen when it was too late. As this vi.sitor came 
to the edge of the hollow which they had 
washed out, they knew that it was Corkscrew 

" What 's he doing here ? " Tom wondered. " I 
thought he was in bed with a sprained foot." 

" I '11 send him to bed again with a shock of 
surprise," said Mr. Rapallo, raising the nozle 
again and turning on the stream. 

As it gushed forth. Uncle Dick aimed it full 
and square at Corkscrew, and it took tiie in- 
truder first in the chest and then in the face. 
In a second he was soaked through. He turned 
and twisted and staggered back, but Mr. Ra- 
pallo never relented. The full stream was kept 
steadily on the inquisitive visitor until the tall 
boy crawled out on the sidewalk and started 
home on a full run. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Tom cried to 
Mr. Rapallo, " Turn it on the place where it 
was before. Uncle Dick ; I think 1 saw a bone 
there ! " 

" I thought I saw it, too," Mr. Rapallo 
replied, as the full head of water began search- 
ing again in the sand. 

Tom ran forward as far as he could, and in a 
moment he gave a cry of joy ; for the water was 
uncovering a human skeleton, and among the 
bones he had caught a glitter of gold. 

ntinucd. ) 

ear with 


^!l ^utlora ^. ^Bumstead. 

V/e ilipped thro' iKo c^atc (i^is aftornoo?A 
V/Ken Bridiset ior^cjot to latcK it ; 

A ci'icket Itt^Slet) Ci csiieer little tune , 
JKi\d we Kiirr'ied oloiio to catcK it . 

I v/iish we'd stayed in tlie .yai'd and p]ayed. 
Tor vv'e ve wonOered and tiu-ned ai\<i Ci'osSe^ 

Lip and dowi^ evil over tKe town , 
Till Dolly IS Traid we 're lost . 

1 wish I d minded mama jn5t rl<^l\t , 
And tKoii'^Kt of her smiles and ki'5Se5 , 

lor it we were {breed to spend the n'i<^ht 
In any 5lic1a place as this is , '^ 

rly Dolly would die - and So stiovild I _ 
But the ovily p\ai\ I see 

Is Just to stoy till (hey come thi.s way 
y\nd find niy J)o]\y and u^e . 


Bv W. A. R()(;kk.s. 

" I don't want to see de yelephant ; 
does the sand-diggin's begin ? " 


l)its of board, and a great, 

ragged piece of coarse wicker. 

Out of these materials and all the 

wraps, coats, and umbrellas belonging to the 

party, a rude kind of tent was constructed. 

The children were informed in a very im- 
pressive manner by their father that the pieces 

That was what Bobby said as he toddled of wicker had floated there from some great 
over endless plank-walks, catching occasional fortification where, in the shape of a basket 
glimpses of the sea between merry-go-rounds filled with sand, it had formed part of a breast- 
dancing-platforms, and bathing-pavilions. work. But Hannah, the old colored nurse. 

It was a desire to please this disappointed 
little lad that led to the discovery of the 
quiet beach ; a place of pure delight to old- 
fashioned folks and little children who can see 
in an unbroken stretch of shining sand a path- 
way of infinite wonders. 

No doubt the people who like the din and 
bustle of the great resorts would find this quiet 
beach unendurably stupid ; but to those who 
had eyes to see and ears to hear there was en- 
tertainment in plenty. 

It would be more generous, perhaps, to go 
into particulars and state just what train or 
boat these good people took when they jour- 
neyed to their delectable strip of sand. There 

are other old-fashioned people who would like said it looked " mighty like de wicker dey use 
to know where such a place of quietude could to pack dates wif " Whether it had formed a 
be found near the bustling city. But the risk part of our harbor defenses or not was a matter 
of having this one haven of rest destroyed is of great moment until the family dog, a tiny 
too great to be taken lightly. It must suffice, creature, was observed attacking a belated 

then, to describe what tliese good peojjle did 
and what they saw after they got there. 

The first necessity of the party was a shelkr 
from the sun. A little " beach -combing " re 
suited in the finding of many bamboo poles, 

horseshoe-crab that had been left ashore by 
the retreating tide. 

Hannah got the children into their bathing- 
suits as soon as the shelter was completed, and 
Mr. Kugene (so Hannali called their uncle) ap- 




peared at the door of an abandoned fishing- youngsters into an old boat that lay half sunken 

shanty, ready to take the youngsters into the in the sand, and then he would sit and spin 

water. them yarns about wrecks and pirates, and the 

It was a pretty sight to see the little people mighty sea-serpent, while their eyes got big as 

clinging to a great barrel-hoop, their uncle in his stories expanded. 
the center, waiting for a big wave to tumble When the sun was high a gentle breeze 

them all over. 

A little way up the beach stood a lighthouse. 
There the children soon made acquaintance 

sprang up, and soon, like butterflies flitting over 
the waves, a fleet of canoes came sailing in close 
to the shore. Their skippers gazed curiously 
at the strange tent on the 
beach, evidently having 
taken it for the c:amp of 
some roving canoeman. 
Then they sheered off and 
flitted away again. 

By and by a .short little 
man carrying a square 
ba.sket and a rod and reel 
came down the beach, 
and carefully selecting his 
o -r -' ,t» .^' ground rolled an old keg 

up on end and sat down 
on it. Then he jointed 
his rod, took some soft 
with the keeper, a jolly, old, brown son of the clams from his basket, baited his hooks, and 
surf, who always wore a pair of oilskin trousers, with a mighty whirl of the rod cast his line 
were it fair ox foul. Sometimes he would get the far out into the low, curling breakers. 





Tlic youngsters soon made his ar(]iiaintancc 
also, and he showed them where to look for 
delicate little mussels, and told the boys how 
to cook them, so that to the contents of the 
hamper were added roast mussels cooked on a 
piece of an old sheet-iron trunk over a fire of 

The older folks found the conglomerate can- 
opy of umbrellas and things a great addition to 
their comfort during the heat of the day, but 
the youngsters in their bathing-trunks and big 



hats reveled in the sunshine, and con- 
stantly made new discoveries. 

First it was a stranded school of wooden 
dolls. There were hundreds of the tiny 
weather-beaten idols. Bobby .said Santa 
Claus must have been wrecked there. A big 
wooden sabot was the next find, and the 
children never tired searching for its mate. 

Toward evening a strange, dark, mov- 
ing line appeared on the beach to the 
westward. It soon resolved itself into a 
file of little l)oys, each carrying a towel 
and bathing-trunks over his arm. 

Al the head of the procession walked 
a nun, her sad, calm face almost hidden 
in the shadow of her blai k bonnet. 

There were nearly a 

hundred boys in line, and 

they moved along at a 

quiet pace toward a row 

of old weather-beaten 

bath-houses hidden in a 


The sad-faced nun sat down by the sea and 

opened a tiny black book to read while the boys 

donned their trunks in the bath-houses. 

But the book slipped from her hands, and she 

. ^_ sat looking out over 

the waves. Soon, 
from the cedar- 
grove the boys came 
troopingout, scamp- 
ering over the sand 
and shouting with 
delight. But none 
as yet went into the 
surf, and it was a 
question to our litde 
party how they were 
to bathe safely. 

The sister picked 
up her little black 
book and arose ; as 
she did so the 
scampering boys 
once more formed 
in line, this time 
holding hands and 
facing the sea. As 
the sister raised her 


COMnEK. (SEE PAGE 750.) 

■ 8-)2.] A QUIET BEACH. 749 

hand the little follows with a shout, rushed into When their half-hour was up, they put on 

the surf, still holding tightly to each other's their orjihans' clothes and trotted otf in line 

hands ; while the good sister walked up and behind the sister, each boy with a very dam]) 

down the line to see that no adventurous pair of trunks over his right arm. 

youngster got beyond his depth. When the Our parly was in no hurry to leave the beach. 



(see next pace.) 

bath was over she gave them half an hour's 
freedom on the beach. 

This gave Bobby a chance to fraternize with 
them, and he found out that none of them had 
fathers or mothers; that this sister was very 
kind to them, but some of the others were not, 
and that they did not have ice-cream for din- 
ner on Sundays. 

but watched the sun go down until it shone on 
the far-distant sails of a fleet of yachts return- 
ing from a cruise, and finally touched only the 
uppermost sail of a S(iuare-rigged merchantman 
far out toward Sandy Hook. 

Then the moon rose, and every one said a 
stroll up the beach by moonlight would be 
delightful. Soon they came upon an old 



man walking slowly in a zigzag course toward 

In his hand he carried a stout hickory stick, 
which he continually poked into the drift as he 
followed the high-tide mark. He stooped oc- 
casionally to pick up some object and drop it 
into the pocket of his bedraggled linen coat. 

There was something uncanny in the old 
man's actions that kept the whole party look- 
ing at him in silence. 
When he drew near they 
saw that he was blind ; 
and as he ]iassed liy with 
wide open and stony 
eyes, entirely uncon- 
scious of their presence, 

there was .such an eager, greedy look upon his 
sightless face that a queer Httle feeling of hor- 
ror came over every one. The old colored 
nurse heaved a .sigh as she whispered : 

'• Dat was a fust warnin' ; two more, an' poor 
(lid Hannah's time hab come! " 

The passing of the blind man, and the gather- 
ing darkness, made the beach seem a very mys- 
terious pathway ; the stunted pines, torn and 
twisted by many a battle with the sea, looked to 
the children strangely like the dragons in their 
Japanese fairy books, and by and by, when 
they saw a little ring of fire ahead of them, 
and an old man with a long, white beard 
dancing over it, they thought they had .surely 
entered in at the gates of Hobgoblin land. 

But it was only an old man baking clams in 
the tire of a wagon-wheel. 

" I 'm expectin' a big party dow n in a one- 
horse wagon, an' I 'm gettin' ready for it. 
Them 's my bathin'-houses," the old man said, 
pointing to what looked like a pile of old lum- 
ber and driftwood. ■' My house is just back 
of them trees. Ye can go in and set down. 
Arminty 's got sody an' ginger-ale, and san- 
giches if you want 'em." 

So they went in and sat with Arminty awhile, 
and as something seemed to have happened to 
the " large party who were to come in the one- 
horse wagon," and it had failed to put in an 
appearance, they went out on the beach again 
and enjoyed the old man's clambake. 

This was the end of that day on the quiet 

beach ; for the old man with the white beard 

hitched ujj his horses to a crazy old four-seated 

wagon and took his 

^ guests to a station on a 

railway that shall be 
nameless, and in an hour 
they were at home in 
rather an old-fashioned 
quarter of New York. 


By Lieut. R. H. Kluichkr. 

[Sefri"' •'• the Jniiimry m4mbn:\ 

Chapter XVII. 

It was the evening of the third day after 
Christmas. Mildred was sitting in the hbrary 
reading one of the books her mother had given 
her. Major Fairleigh was sitting in his easy- 
chair ; his hands were clasped behind his head, 
and he was idly looking at the fire. Mrs. Fair- 
leigh, on the other side of the fireplace, was at 
work on some sewing, from which she e\ery now 
and then raised her eyes to glance at her hus- 
band. At last Major Fairleigh took his hands 
(.iown, while his head dropped wearily back 
against the chair, and he sighed. But happen- 
ing at the same moment to catch his wife's 
anxious look, he tried to turn the sigh into a 
smile, and immediately said, with an attempt at 
cheerfulness : 

•' I wonder how Mildred would like to go." 

"Go where. Papa?" asked Mildred, looking 
up from her book. 

•' To California," replied her father. 

'•To California! " e.xclaimed Mildred, opening 
her eyes very wide. " With you ? " 

" Yes," said her father. 

" And mama?" 

" We could scarcely go anywhere without 
mama, could we ? " asked her father. 

'• Oh," cried Mildred, clasping her hands, " I 
should like it ever so much ! " 

Then Mrs. Fairleigh arose and going over 
to her husband's side, knelt down by his chair, 
and putting her hand on his shoulder, said : 

'• Do you mean it, Will ? Will you go ?" 

•' As I have before remarked, madam," said 
the Major, lightly, " I don't see the necessity of 
it, myself; but as you seem to have set your 
heart on traveling, I suppose that you will have 
to be gratified. So you may begin your prep- 
arations as soon as you like." 

Mililred. who had been standint; in front of 

her fatiier and mother all this time, looking 
and listening eageriy, did not altogether un- 
derstand what was meant, but she understood 
enough to know that they were going to travel. 
.\nd she burst forth eagerly with the question : 

" When are we going. Papa — to-morrow ?" 

" To-morrow, sweetheart ? " said her father, 
smiling. " Well, hardly. It will take us rather 
longer than that to get ready." 

" It won't take me longer than a week, Will," 
said Mrs. Fairleigh. " I can get ready easily 
in a week." 

" You are as bad as Mildred," said the Major, 
smiling at her. •' However, we will call it a 
week if you like. We will start a week from 

To say that Mildred was excited at this sud- 
den announcement but partly expresses her 
state of mind. She did not know that the great- 
est events in our life generally occur most unex- 
pectedly, and I do not suppose that it would 
have made any difference if she had known it. 
For to Mildred it seemed as though the world 
had all at once opened out before her ; and she 
was filled with wonder and expectation, and, it 
must be confessed, some misgiving of what 
inight lie beyond the safe shelter of her home. 
It was long before she could get to sleep that 
night; and the following morning, when she 
awoke, it was with a confused notion that 
something had happened — that some change 
had come over her life; but that it was really 
so wonderful a thing as a journey across the 
continent she could scarcely realize. A dread- 
ful doubt arose in her mind that she had 
dreamed it all. But when she went down to 
the breakfast-room her mother assureil her that 
the plan was no dream, but a reality. 

Then Mildred felt that she must tell the news 
to somebody, and so, after breakfast, having 
obtained her mother's permission, she ran over 
to Leslie's house with the wonderful tidinsfs. 


Charlie was not at home ; but Mildred had 
every reason to feel satisfied with the effect her 
words created on Leslie. Her friend listened 
with open eyes and mouth and then broke forth 
into all sorts of exclamations. But they were 
exclamations of regret rather than astonishment. 
For to Leslie it did not seem so astounding 
a thing for any one to start for California at a 
week's notice — or at a day's notice, for that 
matter. She was accustomed to such sudden 
"changes of station" in the army. But she did 
honestly regret losing Mildred. 

When Charlie came in a few minutes later 
and heard the news, he did not say much, but 
he made it plain that he decidedly disapproved 
of the whole proceeding. It was rather hard, 
he said, just as they were all getting to know 
each other; — particularly hard, of course, for 
Leslie, he added, because there was no one she 
was so intimate with as Mildred. Mildred was 
not quite certain about this in her ow^n mind, 
but she accepted Charlie's assurance in the 
spirit in which it was meant, and said that she 
would be very sorry, indeed, to leave them 

" You don't know how long you will be gone, 
I suppose ? " said Charlie. 

" No," said Mildred. " I think we shall stay 
as long as it does papa good." 

" Of course," said Charlie, trying to look 
more cheerful. " I expect it will do him lots of 
good, too ; I 'm sure I hope it will. And when 
you do come back we will get up another plav. 
Shall we ? " 

" Yes," saii.1 Mildred, laughing a little ; '• I 'm 

" Although," said Charlie, lapsing into gloom 
again, " like as not we won't be here when you 
come back. Pa 's liable to be ordered off' at 
any moment. That 's the worst of being in the 
army, — just when you make friends you alwa\s 
have to leave them." 

" Maybe pa will be ordered to California," 
suggested Leslie, by way of comfort. " Don't 
you know, Charlie, there 's some talk of the re- 
giment's going to California ? " 

" Oh, yes, I know," said Charlie ; " but they 
are always talking about the regiment's going 
somewhere. And at any rate, even if it did 
move, like as not I 'd have to go to boarding- 


school ; and you would n't see Mildred out there, 

Charlie's gloomy view of the subject was 
rather depressing for Mildred. In fact, when 
the time came, a few days later, for Mildred to 
go around and really say farewell to all of her 
friends, she did not find it a cheerful task. They 
all seemed to think California such a long w^ay 
oft", and the chances of her ever returning so 
very uncertain, that on the whole Mildred was 
glad when it was over. 

Occupied in these and other preparations for 
her departure, the week slipped by so quickly 
that Mildred was quite startled when she awoke 
one morning and realized that it was her last 
day at home. And a trying day it proved to 
be. She had said good-by to the dear old 
attic, and to her dolls (all except Marie, whom 
she was going to take with her), and to Miss 
Betsy, the cat, and to the garden and the 
empty stable, and to all the loved, familiar places 
and objects, a dozen times. The trunks were 
all packed and there was little to do to occupy 
her mind, and that little the servants would not 
let her do. Both Amanda and Eliza went 
around with red eyes, and fairly overwhelmed 
Mildred with kindness. In fact, the moment 
Amanda had been told of the Major's decision, 
she had invited Mildred to make herself at 
home in the kitchen, and w as continually cook- 
ing her some little tart or biscuit, just as if she 
was an invalid herself and needed delicacies; 
while Eliza insisted on waiting on her to such 
an extent that it was almost embarrassing, be- 
sides making Mildred uncomfortably sorry for 
having ever been ill-tempered with either of 
them. When at last dinner-time came, every 
one sat down and made a pretense of eating; 
for although Amanda had fairly outdone her- 
self in making this last dinner a good one, no 
one had any appetite. It w-as a great relief 
when eight o'clock, the hour set for departure, 
arrived. Just before that time a huge transfer- 
wagon drove up and stopped before the house 
with a rattle and bang. There was a flashing 
of lanterns, a great upheaval of trunks on men's 
shoulders, and then another rattle and bang, 
and wagon and trunks disappeared in the dark- 
ness. After that the carriage, driven by Eliza's 
husband, was announced. Then the servants 

i89=l TWO CIRIS AND A ROV. 753 

gMllififil in llif hall, ami amid solis iVoin slouly out of the dcpol. Faster and faster it 

and ireniulous good wishes and blessings from suuiit; along to an iron tune of its own mak- 

(ild Amanda, the final good-hys were said, ing; the street-lights grew scarce, and farther 

M.ajor Fairleigh was assisted into the carriage apart, and finally disappeared altogether ; the 

by his friend the surgeon, who had come to see row of lights on Bridge dwindled out of 


them off, Mrs. Fairleigh and Mildred followed, 
the door was slammed to, and away they rum- 
bled through the lamp-lit streets to the depot. 

Here, after the silence of the streets all .seemed 
noise and tumult. Hurrying travelers and their 
friends, porters wheeling huge trucks heaped 
high with trunks, and train-men giving orders, 
made a scene of the greatest confusion. How 
they ever disentangled themselves from this 
throng, Mildred did not know ; but, clinging 
closely to her mother's side, she at last found 
herself in the quiet of a Pullman car. 'I'hen the 
doctor took hasty leave, and the train glided 
Vol. XIX.— 48. 

sight and, last of all, the crown of lights on the 
mighty dome of the Ca]iitol vanished, and with 
it the last trace of Washington and home. 

Chai'tkk XVill. 

It is not my intention to tell all of Mildred's 
experiences on that overland journey. In fact, 
I could not begin to tell all the surprising 
sights, the funny sights, the pretty, the tiresome, 
the startling, and the stupid sights that swept 
before her eyes like a panorama — a ])anorama 
set to the music of the untiring wheels singing 



their iron song to the answering rails from sun- 
rise to sunset, and from darkness to dawn. The 
scene was always changing, and as the train 
whirled on and on, it seemed to Mildred that 
they had jiassed so many farm-houses and 
cities, trees, villages, and rivers, that there 
could not be any more left to pass; hut there 
always were. No matter if .she sat for hours 
gazing out of the window in the daytime, or 
woke up in the night and peeped out at the side 
of the curtain, there was always a farm-house, 
or trees, or a village flitting by. Everything in 
the world was being left behind, — that is, every- 
thing except the telegraph-poles, for they always 
kept hurrying along by the side of the train, just 
as though they had charge of the scenery and 
were showing it to Mildred. Mildred began 
to feel quite a friendship for the telegraph-poles 
because they had come all the way from Wash- 
ington with her. Then they were such dauntless 
fellows ! Scaling the mountains, skipping down 
into the valleys, jumping rivers, and balancing 
themselves on trestles, — nothing ever stopped 
them. In fair weather or foul, there they were, 
dancing along to the hammering chorus of the 
iron song. That was a wonderful tune, too, 
that song of the flying wheels. It set itself to 
any words that Mildred pleased. When she 
was light-hearted it caroled cheerily, and when 
she grew tired it changed into a lullaby and 
soothed her to sleep. In fact, she grew so used 
to being sung to that when the train stopped at 
night at some water-tank or way-station, the 
silence often awoke her, and she did not go to 
sleep again until the train once inore began its 
murmur along the rails. 

When they crossed the Missouri River, at 
Omaha, it seemed as though the stock of farm- 
houses and cities, trees and rivers, had at last 
been almost used up, for they became very 
scarce, and in their place stretched the great 
level prairie with nothing on it but dry grass 
and prairie-dog mounds. The towns at which 
the train stopped were far apart ; and some of 
them were no more than a single street of one- 
story frame-houses, set down on the open i)lain, 
with no trees or flowers about them — only 
rough men with slouch-hats and big spurs, and 
coils of rope at their saddles, who stood leaning 
against their shaggy ponies watching the train 


as it came in. Her father said that they were 
out West now, and that these were "cow-boys." 

At one of these stations Mildred saw some 
queer-looking people crouching on the platform, 
all huddled up in blankets with nothing but 
their heads showing. Their faces were dark like 
Eliza's, but their hair was long and black, and 
they had very high cheek-bones and Roman 
noses. Her father said they were Indians. 

Mildred wondered why the people were not 
afraid of them ; but no one seemed to be. She 
did not like to ask her father too many ques- 
tions, as the doctor had told them at starting 
that he must be kept as quiet as possible. But 
after they had traveled further west, and Mil- 
dred had become used to seeing the Indians, 
she learned that they were tame Indians who 
lived near the stations; and that the wild In- 
dians, like the buffaloes, were no longer seen 
on the line of the railroad ; for which Mildred 
was not sorr}'. Sometimes they stopped at 
stations where there were soldiers, who inter- 
ested Mildred more than did the Indians; for 
was not her father a soldier ? Then, too, these 
were the plains that Charlie and Leslie, whose 
father was also a soldier, had talked about so 

One night Mildred went to sleep after a 
good-night look at the ]3rairies, and awoke in 
the morning to find herself in the mountains. 
The snow lay deep upon the ground, and the 
dark pine-trees arose out of it, bearing little 
white scraps upon their stiff limbs. Then, 
every once in a while, the glaring sunlight re- 
flected from the snow outside was shut out, as 
the train entered what seemed to Mildred a 
tunnel. But she learned that these were snow- 
sheds built to keep the snow from drifting on 
the track and stopping trains altogether. One 
of the passengers pointed out a place where a 
party of emigrants had frozen to death in the 
snow, many years previously, before the rail- 
road was built. It .seemed very cjueer to Mil- 
dred to see how bitterly cold and desolate it 
was outside and how easy it would be to starve 
and freeze to death in those solitudes, and yet, 
at the same time, how warm and pleasant and 
homelike it was in the car. 

But this contrast was nothing compared to 
one that presented itself, a day or two later, 



when the train began swinging down the west- 
ern slope of the Sierras. In twelve hours they 
had left behind snow and rock, frost and pine- 
trees, and were gliding along in a pretty valley 
where the grass was green and the birds were 
chirping and the flowers blooming, all as though 
it was June, instead of January. In fact it was as though they had ridden from winter into 
summer. Only the telegraph-poles and the iron 
song of the haminering wheels remained to re- 
mind the travelers of their home in the far-off 
East. And this was California. 

Chapter XIX. 

It was toward the close of the seventh day 
of their journey that Mildred, with her father 
and mother, arrived in Oakland, on San Fran- 
cisco Bay. At the Sixteenth Street station a 
gentleman came into their car and, after speak- 
ing to the conductor, walked up to where they 
were sitting and said to Mildred's papa, " Major 
Fairleigh, I believe." 

The Major instantly sat up (for he had been 
reclining with his head on a pillow) and, holding 
out his hand, exclaimed, " Why, Kenilworth ! is 
this you ? I 'm glad to see you. This is very 
kind of you, indeed ! You received my letter, 

The gentleman returned the greeting and, at 
the same time laying his hand gently on the 
Major's shoulder, said, " Don't disturb yourself. 
Will. Yes, I received your letter just in time to 
meet you." 

Then Major Fairleigh said to his wife, 
" Mary, you remember my cousin, John Kenil- 
worth ? " 

" I am glad to meet you once more, Mr. 
Kenilworth," said Mrs. Fairleigh, giving him 
her hand. " It is a long time since we liave 
seen each other." 

" Not since the war," he replied. " .And this, 
I presume," he continued, turning to Mildred, 
" is the baby." 

'• Yes," said Mrs. Fairleigh, smiling, '' this is 
the baby." 

And Mildred, who had been shyly looking 
at the stranger all this time, — this stranger who 
had seemed so far away when he had sent her 
oranges at Christmas-time, — came forward and 

siiDok iiands witii him in acknowledgment of 
the introduction. 

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with 
dark hair and beard and dark eyes, and his 
face was browned by the sun, all excejjt a white 
streak on his forehead where his hat shaded it. 
He did not talk much, but when the little party 
arrived at the Oakland mole, where they had to 
change cars for the huge ferry-boat that w-as 
to take them across the bay to San Francisco, 
he quietly took charge of everything. Mildred 
particularly liked the way he helped her father, 
just as though it was only because he was glad 
to be with him again, and not because he really 
needed assistance. Then, after he had seen her 
father and mother comfortably seated in the 
cabin, this new Cousin John took Mildred out 
on deck and showed her the lights of San Fran- 
cisco twinkling through the haze and smoke 
on the opposite shore. He pointed out the 
" Golden Gate," and a great steamship com- 
ing in, which, he said, was the China steamer. 
It made Mildred feel very far away from home 
to think that out there in the purple twilight 
was the Pacific Ocean, and that close at hand 
was a steamship that had just come from China. 

The immense harbor was filled with odd- 
looking ships, — foreign men-of-war, merchant- 
men, quaint little fishing-boats with red sails, 
great Chinese junks such as she remembered 
having seen in her geography, and all sorts of 
queer craft. Then, too, although the sun had 
set, the sky and the wOiier and the distant hills 
were all softly colored and tinted ; it was like a 
picture, a strange though beautiful picture. 

It did not take long to cross the bay, and 
very soon they were rattling over the cobble- 
stones of San Francisco, on their way to the 
hotel. And here again Mildred found some- 
thing to wonder at; for they drove through an 
arched way and into a large courtyard ; and in 
this court were palm-trees, broad-leaved ba- 
nanas and glossy, dark orange-trees, set around 
in big, green boxes ; while opening out upon the 
court was a large dining-room, in which could 
be seen ladies and gentlemen at dinner. Alto- 
gether it was a cheerful sight for tired travelers. 
Mr. Kenilworth had engaged rooms for them, 
and they found the gas lighted and fires in the 
grates, and great bowls of /.a Fminc roses to 




greet ihein, — :i true ( '.ililinnia weliimie. When 
Cousin Jiilm tDnl. his lea\e. his ears nnisl have 
luirned. so nian\- jileasanl things were said of 
him. Milch'cd, who. as has been before re- 
marked, did not make friends quickly, espe- 
cially sounded his praises. " [ think he is just 
as nice as he can be ! " she said. 

one whose opinion of .Major 
le would ratlier ha\e than Dr. 

The ne.xt morning Major Fairleigh was so 
worn out by liis journey that he could not leave 
his bed. Of course Mrs. Fairleigh was very 
anxious about him, and when Mr. Kenilworth 
came she asked him to deliver the letter of 
introduction which Dr. Strong, their armv- 
surgeon in Washington, had given them to a 
certain Dr. Merton who lived in San Fran- 
cisco. Now this Dr. Merton was a physician 
who was very well known, not only on the Pa- 
cific coast but in the East as well, for his skill 
and wisdom. In fact. Dr. Strong had said dial 

he knew of nc 
Fairleigli's case 

Naturally, then, Mrs. Fairleigh was eager to 

meet this celebrated physician on whose words 

so much depended. He arrived at last, — a 

little gray-haired man w'ith thoughtful eyes and 

.slim white hands. Mildred, 

who had overheard from time 

to time enough to impress her 

with his importance, looked at 

him with awe as he passed 

into her father's room, but 

was rather disappointed that 

he was not bigger. 

The doctor returned soon, 
saying cheerfully that Major 
Fairleigh was more in need 
of rest than of anything else 
at ]iresent, and that he would 
call again. He came the fol- 
lowing morning and found the 
])atient better, and prescribed 
a ride for the next day. They 
all went on that ride. Cousin 
John with his strong arms 
and quiet manner helping the 
Major. They drove through 
the park and out to the beach, 
vfhere Mildred for the first 
time saw the Pacific stretch- 
ing away to the horizon, and 
beyond, — to the shores of 
China and India, and the 
islands of the Southern Sea. 
They stopped at the Cliff 
House to rest, and. sitting on 
the veranda which overhung 
the surf, watched the seals swimming in the 
water and writhing over the rocks, with their 
ceaseless yelping and barking. Then they drove 
back through the park in the bright warm air 
with the blue sky overhead, and green lawns 
and gorgeous flowers around them — it was 
very hard to believe that this was the month of 

Each day after this Major Fairleigh grew a 
little bettt-r. At the end of a week the doctor 
said that he was strong enough to go to the 
southern part of the State, where he would not 


be confined to the hotel as he was in the city, 
but could be out of doors all day long. Cousin 
John wanted them to go home with him, prom- 
ising them unlimited fresh air and all tlie com- 
forts possible ; but, unfortunately, his home was 
in the north and the doctor did not think the 
climate quite suitable. 

" Indeed," said the doctor, " if you could 
take a sea voyage, to the Islands, that would 
help you more than anything." 

'• I rather fancy a sea voyage, myself," said 
the Major. 

"Then bv all means let us go," said .Mrs. 

■■ Well," saiil the doctor, '■ think it over." 


The morning following this discussion, Mil- 
dred was sitting by the window watching the 
stream of people and vehicles passing by on the 
street below, and wishing that Leslie or Charlie 
might be with her to see the strange sights. 

The Chinese, or " Chinamen," as every one 
called them, especially amused her. She had 
seen one or two Chinese before, on rare occa- 
sions, at the legation in Washington ; but here 
in San Francisco they were so common that no 
one noticed them. There were Chinese laundry- 
men trotting along with big baskets of clothes 


woman ilressed in a loose gown of glossy black, 
with wide sleeves, a pair of purple trousers tied 
at the ankles, and on her feet dark Chinese 
shoes with very thick white soles, so that she 
had to shuffle along to keep them on. Her 
face was painted and her black hair trussed out 
with gold sticks. She held a child by the hand, 
a walking bundle of crimson and yellow clothes, 
with a gaudy round cap on its shaven little head, 
and red paint on its cheeks. They had stopped 
to buy a pomegranate from an Italian fruit-ven- 
der, and Mildred was wishing that she might 
see the funny little baby closer, when her mo- 
ther came in and stood by her side. 

Mrs. Fairleigh smiled when Mildred pointed 
out the Chinese woman and child, but was evi- 
dently thinking of something else. Presently 
she said : 

" Mildred, dear, how would you like to go 
with Cousin John to his home in .\rcata, for a 
little while ? " 

"With you and papa. Mama?" said Mildred, 
looking up quickly. 

" No, dear," said her mother ; " by yourself. 
Papa has almost made up his mind to take a 
sea voyage to the Hawaiian Islands," she con- 
tinued. " The doctor thinks that it is best, and 
as we came out here to try and make papa 
well, I am very anxious to do just as the doctor 
says. Now, as we shall not be gone more than 


on their shoulders, and Chinese peddlers with two months, Cousin John has been kind enough 

pairs of huge baskets slung to a pole across to ask us to let you visit him." 
their backs, and Chinese house-servants in white " Oh, Mama ! " said Mildred, looking up at 

blouses with their (jueues hanging down from her mother, while the tears came slowly into her 

their shaven heads. And while Mildred was eyes, "1 don't want to do that! I don't want 

looking out of the wintlow she saw a Chinese to go away Irom you ! " 

75'^ 'l"\VO OIRI.S AND A BOV. 

" Don't you, dear? " said Iilt muthtr, sitting gradually quiclL-d Mildred, until, looking up 

down by Mildred's side and putting her arms with an attempt at a smile through her tears, 

around her ; " I was in hopes that perhaps you she said apologetically : 

would like to go. It is for so short a time ; and " You know, Mama, that I never have been 

Cousin John has cjuite an affection for you, and away from you in all my life, and to have you 

you like him so much, and he says that he will and papa go across the ocean and leave me 

do all that he can to make it pleasant for you. here all alone where I don't know anybody. 

He has a ranch not very far from his home in it — it — " and here the thought once more so 

Areata, and you can go there with him and nearly overcame her that she had to stop and 

have a pony to ride, and see all the horses and swallow the lump in her throat before she could 

cows and sheep. His housekeeper, who is an add, " it made me cry." 

elderly relative of his, will take good care of " Of course, sweetheart," said her mother, 

you." consolingly; "I understand. And I am sure 

" But why can't I go with you and papa ? " that it is very natural that the idea should star- 
asked Mildred. " I would so much rather." tie you at first. But if I were you I would 

" And I would much rather have you, dear," think about it a little before I quite made up 

said her mother; "but it is a very expensive my mind. And when you come to look at it 

trip, and we are spending a great deal of money; I don't think that you will find it such a very 

more than we can afford. In fact, papa was dreadful thing. When I was your age I went 

inclined to give up the idea of taking this sea to boarding-school and was away from home 

voyage on that account, but I told him that for five or six months at a time; and though I 

I thought you would be wilhng to stay with cried at first, I soon got used to it. There are 

Cousin John, and persuaded him not to aban- times, you know, when we have to sacrifice our 
don the voyage ; because, of course, your stay- 
ing would make a great difference." 

Mildred was silent for a few moments looking 
out of the window, though she saw nothing 
through the blur of tears ; at last she said : 

" Then papa wants me to stay ? " 

own wishes for our own good, or the good of 
others. That is what we call duty. And believe 
me, dear, there is no satisfaction equal to that 
which comes from having bravely done our 
duty. I remember a certain little girl who used 
to take great pride in hearing how her ancestors 
' Papa says that you are to do as you like," in ancient times were gallant men and women 

said her mother. 

There was another short silence, finally l)ro- 
ken by Mildred's throwing her arms around her 
mother's neck and bursting into tears. 

'• ( )h. Mama," she sobbed, " I can't ! I don't 
want to ! Do let me go with you, please do, 
Mama ! " 

" There, there, dear heart ! " said her mother, 
laying her cheek against Mildred's head ; " we 
are not going to force you to stay. Come, 
come, let us talk of it sensibly, and then if you 
make up your mind that you would rather not 
stay, why then you need not." 

These assurances and sundr\- little 

who did what they thought was right, no matter 
what it cost them. And I remember, too, how- 
anxious that little girl was'lest she should never 
have a chance to show how courageous she 
could be in time of trial. Do you remember ? " 

Mildred nodded her head, but without look- 
ing up. 

" And I told you then," continued her mother, 
" that while perhaps opportunities to show hero- 
ism in war or sudden danger were fortunately 
rare, life was only too full of trials that needed a 
brave heart. And these are the ones, overcome 
alone and in silence, that are hardest to bear ; 
and victi)r\- over them dc>er\es the most praise." 

( To be coitlhtiteii. ) 


I Wf*-^ 

Iefl me, tell me, little trout, 
Does your mother know you 're out 
h It you 're truant from your school, 
1 1 umg hookey in this pool ? 

\s you see, my little trout, 
I desire to draw you out. 
In the brook noise so abounds 
I hat I cannot catch your sounds 

It thu joke he do but see, 
\n> trout should tickled be.) 
Would }0u take the point so fine. 
If 1 droi)ped you just a line ? 

Don't they teach it in these creeks 
That when one above you speaks, 
First, before a sole replies. 
It is meet that you should rise ? 

HlithcK as becomes a trout 
(I 'm not angling for a pout), 
Quickly take things on the fly, 
For I 've other fish to fry. 

Thank you, thank you, little trout. 
Schools are in but you are out : 
School and pool alike forgot — 
This is hookey — is it not? 



*'-W;''^ -mv _..^ '".■■7 ^^l 

By Charles William Kennedy. 

{Formerly Comiinnuhr S. S. "Germanic") 

A LONG trail of smoke issuing from the fun- 
nel of a tender about a quarter of a mile oft' 
attracted my attention, and I knew that my 
passengers had left the landing-stage at Liver- 
pool, and woukl very soon he on board the 

Leaving the wheel-house, where I hapjiened 
to be standing at the time, I hurried below to 
the main-deck, and taking my station in a con- 
venient |ilace to receive them, I awaited their 

The tender rapidly approached, and in a few 
moments glided smoothly alongside. Ropes 
were thrown to us, and after everything had 
been made secure the gang-plank was run out, 
and without further delay the passengers pro- 
ceeded to come on board. 

Among the first to appear was a fomily con- 
sisting of a gentleman and his wife, five boys, 
and two maids. The gentleman and lady saluted 
me with a pleasant bow and smile, and I imme- 
diately recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Quincy, 
from Philadelphia. A few weeks before, they 
had crossed with me from New York to Liver- 
pool for the purpose of bringing home their five 
.sons, who for nearly two years iuul l)ecii li\ing 
in Germany. 

I immediately went forward to receive and 
greet them. After the usual salutations were 
over, Mr. Quincy turned, and, waving his hand 
in the direction of the lads, said in a tone of 
fatherly pride : 

" Captain, all these are my boys. William, 
the eldest, George, Harry, Jack, and here is 
our baby, Tom," taking hold of a little fellow 
of about six years, who had shrunk back behind 
one of his big brothers, and pulling him forward. 

The faces of all wore a bright, intelligent 
expression, and, as each one advanced and ex- 
tended his hand to me in an easy, gentlemanly 
manner, I saw at a glance that they were boys 
of whom any parents might be proud. 

After a few words of conversation, the family 
left me, going aft to their rooms. 

For the first three days the weather was wet 
and disagreeable ; so much so that I saw but 
little of the passengers, and that only at meals. 
Even then very few were able to appear at the 
table. The saloon .seemed almost deserted. 

On the morning of the fourth day the sun 
came out, and the weather was glorious. 
Steamer-chairs ajjpeared in all directions, and 
very soon after breakfast each had its occu- 
pant. The deck was full of life and animation. 


Ladies and gentlemen were walkini; about, 
children were running this way and that, fol- 
lowed by their nurses, and all enjoying the first 
fine day we had had since leaving Liverpool. 

I had come out of my chart-room and was 
standing forward under the bridge, taking a 
look at the horizon, when 1 felt a slight tug 
from behind, and at the same moment heard a 
clear, boyish shout, " Captain ! Captain ! " 

'• What do you want with me ? " I exclaimed, 
turning quickly round to see who was at the end 
of my coat-tail. 

There stood the two youngest members of 
the Quincy family. Jack and Tom, their faces 
shining with eagerness and their eyes flashing 
with excitement as they fastened them intently 
on me. 

" Say, Captain, may Tom and I go up on the 
bridge ? " asked Jack. 

" Oh ! it 's you, is it, boys ? " said I, recog- 
nizing them at once. " Do you think you 
little fellows can take care of yourselves alone ? 
It 's pretty rough this morning," I continued, 
somewhat sternly, and purposely evading their 

"Oh, yes; I can take care of myself and 
Tom, too ! " replied Jack, as if he had been 
to sea all his life. " But may we, Captain ? " 
he added, not in the least abashed or dis- 

'• Humph ! " I ejaculated ; " I don't suppose 
either of you boys knows how to read ! Uo 
you ? " looking from one to the other. 

" Why, of course, I can read," replied Jack, 
a little indignantly. " What made you think 
I could n't ? " 

" Come with me, and you shall soon find 

Cjiving a hand to each boy, I led them to the 
wheel-house, and pointed out to them the notice 
posted at the foot of the ladder. 

■' Now let me hear you read that," said I to 
Jack, as I lifted him up that he might see 
more plainly. 

Very slowly and carefully he read the fol- 
lowing words, " Passengers are not allowed on 
the bridge." 

" Oh I " exclaimed both the little fellows in 
a tone of great disappointment, as I set Jack 
again on his feet. 


A shadow of decj) despair settled ujion their 
round faces, as they .saw tlieir h:qjpy anticipa- 
tions rapidly vanishing. 

" But we are such /i///e passengers ! " said 
Tom, looking wistfully uj) to me. 

How was it possible to resist such an argu- 
ment as that! I could n't do it. .Stoojjing 
down anil lowering my voice to a confidential 
tone, 1 said: 

'■ Now, boys, if I take you on the bridge 
you must keep it a profound secret ; for, if 1 
took up there all the little boys who cross the 
ocean with me, I should n't have any time to 
look after my ship, you know." 

The clouds disappeared, and the sun shone 
out even brighter than before, as both prom- 
ised faithfully that they would not " tell." 

" Only papa and mama ; we may tell them, 
Ca]jtain ? " eagerly exclaimed Tom. 

"Oh, yes; never keep anytliing from your 
father and mother, if you want to be good 
boys," I replied. 

Bidding them wait for a moment, I went into 
the chart-room to make a memorandum. I 
heard their voices under the port, and now and 
then a suppressed little laugh, as they stood 
waiting for me. As soon as I had finished my 
work I went out and met them. 

Just opposite the wheel-house door I hesi- 
tated a moment. There was quite a sea on, 
and I feared that it was too much for the litde 
fellows. They were standing very quietly by 
my side, watching my every movement, and 
actually trembling with delight. I could not 
make up my mind to disappoint them a second 
time, and so decided to gratify them. 

Taking Tom in my arms, I carried him half- 
way up the ladder, and, setting him down, told 
him to cling to the rail and go ahead. Then I 
went down for Jack. He did not require any 
assistance, but ran nimbly up by himself, I fol- 
lowing closely behind. 

From our jjost of observation, the great 
steamer could be seen her entire length from 
bow to .stern. Masts and rigging stood out in 
bold relief, while the huge smoke-stacks, send- 
ing out thick columns of smoke, seemed higher 
and bigger than ever before. 

Not a word escajied the lips of the two boys, 
as they gazed fore and aft, above and below. 


They seemed to be struck dum!) l)y the nuveh_\- 
of the scene. 

Turning around, they looked toward the 
horizon. As far as the eye could reach not a 
sail was to be seen. Nothing lay before them 
but the great ocean and our own vessel. 

" Hold on tight, or you '11 get something 
you won't like," cautioned I, as the ship gave 
a lurch and the boys staggered to one side. 

'■Oh, it 's nice up here; it 's fun!" said 
Tom at last, catching his breath as he spoke. 
" 1 wish 1 could stay here all clay with you. 

"So do 1," echoed Jack. 

" You would n't, if a big wave should come 
and wet you all over, and perhaps carry you 
off," I replied, smiling at their enthusiasm. 

Just then a heavy sea broke against the ship, 
covering her with spray, and giving the two 
boys a taste of what they might e.xpect if they 
remained "all day," as Tom said. 

Little Tom's face turned white ; whether from 
fright or seasickness I could not quite decide. 
Taking him again in my arms, I told the boys 
that we would better go on deck, where it was 
safer, and bade Jack follow me, which he ditl, 
clinging more tightly to the rail than before. 

When the boys found themselves safe on 
their feet, they turned and with shining faces 
thanked me for taking them on the bridge 
" where the big passengers could n't go " ; and 
then ran away as fast as their little legs and the 
motion of the ship would allow, to tell their 
father and mother, as Tom had before suggested. 

A day or two after this litde event, I stood 
near the wheel-house door enjoying a quiet 
smoke, when I heard a loud clattering of boy- 
ish feet along the deck. Looking aft I saw- 
Tom and Jack rushing toward me in a state of 
great excitement. 

"Oh, Captain!" shouted both together be- 
fore they had fairly reached me. " There 's a 
steamer ahead of us, and we are going by her 
pretty soon ! " 

" Is there ? " I ini|uire(l, taking my pi])e from 
mv nioutii and putting it away. " We 'II go 
and lia\e a look at her." 

The usual commotion caused by the appear- 
ance of a strange vessel on the voyage was 
already ap|jarent among the passengers on deck. 


and tile- very same old i|uestions were being 
asked one of another : " What steamer is it ? " 
" Where is she bound ? " " What Hne does she 
belong to ? " 

Going into the chart-room, I took my glass 
from its place, and, followed by the boys, who 
were close behind, went out and stood under 
the end of the bridge. Raising the glass to my 
eyes, I scrutinized her closely, trying to make 
her out. 

" What steamer is it, Captain ? Can you 
see?" asked Jack, standing on the tips of his 
toes and peering over the rail, while Tom was 
steadying himself by cUnging to my coat. 

From the end of the gaff four flags were fly- 
ing in the wind, and I saw that she wished to 
communicate with us. 

" Let 's go and find out, boys," I replied, 
putting my glass in my pocket. " She is telling 
us who she is, and she wants us to do something 
for her." 

"Telling us who she is!" echoed Jack, a 
slight tone of contempt in his voice. " Ships 
can't talk. Captain ! " 

" Can't they ? " said L " Don't be so sure, 
my Ijoy ! Ships can make their wants known as 
well as you and Tom can. Deaf-and-dumb 
people don't talk, but for all that they have a 
language of their own; and so do ships." 

" But how do they do it ? How is it ? " asked 
Jack eagerly, looking u]) into my face to see if 
I w^as really in earnest. 

" We '11 soon know all about it if we go aft, 
on the whaleback," said I, hurrying along in 
that direction, the boys jumping and running 
by my side. 

" The whaleback ! " exclaimed Jack, opening 
his bright black eyes at the mention of this 
hitherto unknown part of the ship. " Why, 
what 's that. Captain ? Where is it ? " 

" Come along with me, and you '11 see," I 
answ-ered, smiling at the tw'o eager faces up- 
turned to mine. " I shall make good sailors of 
you youngsters yet before we get to New York." 

The boys laughed, and Jack ran on ahead. 

" Look out ! Hold fast to the rail and don't 
fall ofl ! " I called out to the lad, as he stepped 
on the narrow foot-bridge leading frt)m the 
saloon-deck to the one beyond. 

" I won't fiill ! " he shouted, allowing his 


hand to sliuc smoothly along the rail as he ran 
swiftly across. 

Little Tom clung to me as I led him safely 
over. Picking our way carefully among coils 
of rope and other sailing-gear, we were soon 
standing on the extreme end of tlie stern where 
the officer was signaling. 

" Here we are, boys, on the whaleback," 
said I ; " but never mind that now. We must 
look sharp if we want to find out what the 
steamer is saying." 

We had by this time nearly overtaken the 
stranger, and could plainly distinguish her sig- 
nals as they floated from the peak. 

•■ Do you see those four flags flying from the 
gaft-end ? " said I to Jack. 

"Yes, sir; I see the flags, but I don't know 
where the gaff-end is," replied the little fellow, 
standing on tiptoe to obtain a better view. 

" Never mind, if you only see the flags," said 
I. "That 's the principal thing. Now, look 
closely, and you will see that they are fastened 
on a rope, one below the other, and that no 
two are alike. Each one of those flags repre- 
sents a letter — just the same as when you are 
reading a book, you know that A is A, and 
B is B. There are four, and we must read 
from the toj) downward. Keep still, Tom. 
Don't cling to me, for I can't steady my glass 
if you do." 

Tom immediately released his hold, and I 
turned my attention to the signals. 

Looking steadily at the flags, I saw what 
letters they represented, and read them aloud 
to the boys. 

"They are J, Q, H, V. Now, we must look 
in the signal-book to find out what steamer has 
that signal given to her. We cannot stop now, 
for she is going to say something else to us, 
and we can find out the name afterward." 

" Oh, Captain ! " shouted Tom, " there go 
some flags up on our ship ! What are they 
for ? " 

" Those are our letters, and will tell her who 
we are. They are N, V, B, Q," I replied. 

" They have drawn down those on the other 
steamer, and are running up some more," ex- 
claimed Jack, dancing about in great excite- 

" Yes ; now they are going to ask us a ques- 


tion, and we must look raicfull)', and not make 
any blunders," said 1, raising my glass to my 
eyes as I spoke. 

" There are only three flags this time, Cap- 
tain. What does that mean ? " asked Jack, 
turning around and watching me closely. 

" In a moment I will tell you," said I, exam- 
ining the signals carefully. " They are P, D, S. 
Now, my officer who is signaling will know 
just what that means. Yes, he has hauled 
down the ship's letters and run up his reply. 
That is a long, pointed flag, tailed a pennant, 
and means, ' Yes, I will.' " 

" There is another flag all by itself, and they 
are pulling it up and down on the rope. What 
is that for. Captain ?" shouted Tom, still watch- 
ing the strange steamer. 

" That flag is the ensign ; and by lowering 
and raising it they are saying, ' 1 have no more 
to ask. Thank you very much, (jood-by.' " 

" Does it mean all that ? " cried Jack, open- 
ing wide his large black eyes. 

" It means all that," I answered, laughing at 
the expression of amazement on the boys' faces. 

The steamer being now some distance astern, 
the signals were hauled down and put away. 

" Now, boys," said I, " come with me to the 
chart-room, and I will show you the signal- 
book. We shall find out there all we want to 

In the gayest spirits, both boys left me and 
ran ahead. 

As we approached the wheel-house I saw the 
two elder brothers of Jack and Tom standing 
near the door, watching the steamer now almost 
out of sight. 

"Oh, Will!" shouted Jack to the elder of the 
two, a lad of about seventeen, " the Captain 
is going to show us the signal-book, and tell us 
ail about the signals." 

" Is that so?" said Will, turning round and 

Thinking that the subject might lie inter- 
esting to the larger as well as to the smaller 
boys, I invited the lads to come in also ; which 
invitation they both accepted with evident 

Sitting down on a camp-stool, I took out my 
signal-book and laid it on the desk. Jack stood 
on one siile of me, Tom on the otiier, both 


leaning on ihcir clhous; while the two elilcr 
boys sat on the sofa at my left, w here they also 
could easily see. 

Ojiening the book, I turned to the list of 



'• 1 suppose, Cu])tain," said Will (Juincv, 
' that the code is similar to those used in 
:abling : is n't it ? " 

" Ves, with the exception that the letters used 

registered vessels, comprising nearly seventeen in signaling do not form words, being all con- 
thousand, each having her own allotted signal, sonants. In cabling, certain words are adopted, 

each bearing the sig- 
nification of a long 
sentence; whereas in 
signaling the combi- 
nation is of two, three, 
and four consonants, 
making it impossible 
to spell a word. Why 
this is so, I cannot tell. 
You will see, by look- 
ing over the signal- 
book, what a long 
code has been ar- 
ranged. Almost any 
question you 'd think 
of can be asked and 
answered. We can 
notify a vessel within 
signaling distance that 
we are sinking ; or, we 
can invite the captain 
to come and take din- 
ner with us ; just as we 
happen to feel." 

The boys were 
laughing at this when 
George interrupted 
them. "Captain," said 
he, " how is it done at 
night ? Flags cannot 
be seen in the dark." 

"No; you are right." 
I replied. " When a 
ship is in danger, 
sK.NAi.iNG Al bkA. rockets are used at 

and soon ascertained to what ship tlie letters night, and bonfires also are kindled, so that the 

J, Q, H, V belonged. attention of a passing vessel is attracted by the 

"That ship, boys," said I, "is the ' Tyne- light. Then the latter throws up certain rockets 

mouth Castle,' and she is from North Shields, which indicate that assistance will be sent as 

England." Then, referring to the code, I found soon as po.ssible." 

that the letters P, D, S signified, " Report me to "When you have once learned the flags, it 

Lloyd's Agent," and explained that this meant, is n't so very ditficult after all ; is it. Captain? " 

" Report passing me to the New Vork agent in sai<l Will, smiling, 

charge of such matters." " It is like ever\thinL; else, m\ lad." said 1, 



closing the book of signals and putting it won't ever saj- after this that ships can't talk, 

away, " It all seems to be very easy after you will you?" 

ont-e know it." " No, indeed, Captain," said tiic little fellow. 

•• Xow, Jack," I continued, as the boys rose earnestly. " But I did n't know any better 

from their seats, and prepared to leave, " you then, you know, and now I do." 


Bv H. D. Smith. 
(Captain U. S. Ki'-rniw Ciit/cr Sen'ke.) 

Sighting a vessel at sea is always an event 
carrying with it a certain amount of interest, 
curiosity, and excitement, shared alike by the 
grave officer and the careless boy or apprentice. 
The little speck silhouetted against the clear- 
cut horizon, gradually assuming shape and 
familiar proportions, with an occasional gleam 
of snow-white canvas glinting in the sun's rays, 
rivets the attention of all hands, breaks the dull 
monotony of a long voyage and awakens tender 
yearnings and longings for news from home. 

No incident of the sea voyage is more inter- 
esting than that of the meeting of ships and 
their conversation with signals. No prettier 
marine picture may be found than two vessels 
covered with spotless canvas towering aloft, 
swelling majestically to the favoring gale, 
passing each other on opposite tacks, with 
numerous gaily colored and oddly shaped flags 
fluttering from the masthead. 

An exciting incident of signaling at sea was 
experienced by the writer when making a 
homeward-bound vo)'age on one of the far- 
famed " tea-clippers." 

The ship had touched at Anjer Point for 
the purpose of replenishing the stock of fresh 
provisions ; and the news received at that 
trading-place was startling, to say the least, 
and evidently had considerable effect upon 
the " old man," who thoughtfully paced the 
deck. The captain of a merchant vessel is 
always called the " old man," though he mav 
be the youngest man on board. 

Our commander had good reason for reflec- 
tion over the news he had received. He was 
in command of one the finest vessels afloat, a 
craft of over 2000 tons burden, and with a 
cargo of tea and silk under her hatches valued 
at more than $250,000; the clipper herself must 
have been worth a small fortune. 

On shore, beneath the wide-spreading 
branches of the celebrated banyan tree, where 
Armenians, Chinese, Japanese, Malays, Hin- 

doos, Persians, Tatars, Bornese, Sumatrans, 
Javanese, and Europeans jostled one another, 
our captain had learned that the dreaded "Ala- 
bama" was already in the China Sea, and 
had left her mark as she swept onward in quest 
of peaceful and defenseless merchant ves- 
sels. The fine ships " Amanda," " Contest," 
and " Winged Racer " had fallen victims to 
Semmcs and his crew. There was no telling 
where the slippery cruiser might turn up next. 

'• Give me a cracking breeze," remarked the 
captain to his chief mate, as he glanced proudly 
at the lofty and tapering spars of his gallant 
craft, " and I '11 bid defiance to all the Con- 
federate crafts afloat ! I can't remain here. 
Every day lost is so many dollars out of the 
owner's pockets. Hit or miss, I shall make a 
break for the Cape, and I have faith enough 
in the clipper to believe her good luck will 
stand by her." 

The captain's will was law, and half an hour 
afterward the ship, under a cloud of canvas, 
was skimming over the surface of the water, 
with the highlands of Sumatra rapidly blend- 
ing into the roseate hues of a gorgeous sunset. 

The run to the Cape, the haunt of the " Fly- 
ing Dutchman," was quickly made, and there 
was little rest for oflficers or crew. A vigilant 
lookout was constantly maintained from aloft. 
Braces and bowlines, tacks and sheets, were 
constantly under the surveillance of the officer 
of the watch, while the " old man " might 
be seen pacing the deck at all iiours, night 
and day. 

Early one morning the mate was startled by 
the cry from aloft, " Black smoke ahead, sir ! 
A big steamer standing to the southward." 

The captain was called, and in a trice bounced 
on deck, where, applying the glass to his eye, 
he took a long look at the stranger who had 
))ushed so suddenly out of the early mist hang- 
ing low upon the horizon. 

Wliatever her character, wc had but little 

"WHAT Ni:\vs? ~ 

chance of escape, if she hail riHed guns. Many 
a glance of apprehension was directed toward the 
somber hull and pair of sloping smoke-stacks 
with the twisting smoke trending far astern. 

" Show him our colors, sir ! Bend on the 
ensign ; we may as well be hung for a sheep as 
a lamb. If that fellow is a rebel, the sooner 
we know it the better!" exclaimed the cap- 
tain somewhat excitedly to the mate. 

It was close upon six bells (seven o'clock) 
when the steamer revealed her nationality. 

We fairly jelled as the blood-red cross of St. 
George danced up aloft from the steamer's sig- 
nal-halyards. She was evidently a troop-ship 
bound for the Cape, a trifle out of her course, 
but we did not stoj) to consider that. 

She was too far distant to speak, but in obe- 
dience to a gesture from the captain, the mate 
emptied a bag of gaily colored signals on deck ; 
and the boys were called aft to man the hal- 
yards and lend a hand to bend on the magic 
flags. Upward fluttered the party-colored bits 
of bunting, glasses were leveled, and breathless 
expectancy marked the sunburnt features of 
the clipper's crew; for the inquiry flying from 
our mizzenroyalmast was, " What news of the 
American War ? " 

The flash of foam cast up by the huge pro- 
peller greeted our straining vision, the great 
steamer glided onward, but no responsive sig- 
nals gladdened the anxious hearts of those 
yearning to hear news from home. 

With a jiassionate exclamation of disappoint- 
ment the captain closed the joints of his long 
glass with a savage snap, saying, as he turned 
away, '• He has n't our code. It 's no use." 

'• Look at that ! " suddenly exclaimed the 
mate, pointing. "What is he going to do?" 

" He is coming about," shouted the captain, 
his bronzed features fairly paling. " Can it be 
possible he has played us a trick, and is the 
Alabama ? Stand by, all hands, for " 

A deep blast of the steam-whistle rumbled 
over the flashing waters, followed by a number 
of quick toots as the steamer ranged to leeward; 
then an expanse of white canvas was lowered 
over the side. 

-I.\ MID-OCEAN. 767 

(dasses were directed upon that bright |)atch 
amidships, upon which dark lines could be dis- 
cemed with the naked eye. The glass showed 
tliese were letters. 

"I have it!" shouted the captain, leaping 
excitedly into the rigging. " Spread the news 
fore and aft ! It says, ' The American con- 
flict is over! Davis a fugitive' — and what 's 
that? Heavens, no — yes — ^Lincoln is killed T 

" Strike the colors half-mast, sir," continued 
the captain to the mate, in a subdued tone. 
Then he added, " Hoist the signal, ' Thank you,' 
to the steamer." 

At that moment the rich, full tones of a 
regimental band were wafted across the heav- 
ing swells, and many an eye glistened with 
emotion as the well-known strains of " Hail 
Columbia " were faintly heard. The steamer 
slowly fell off, and resumed her course, while, 
as if actuated by one impulse, officers and men 
sprang into the weather-rigging, giving three 
times three and waving their hats in return for 
the kindness of the courteous Englishman. 
The Stars and Stripes were dipped three times, 
the hoarse whistle rang out in return, the 
" Meteor flag " slowly and majestically re- 
turned the salute, and the greeting in mid- 
ocean was over. 

" The commander of that craft is a gentle- 
man — every inch of him!" was the admiring 
remark of the mate as he glanced a.stem at 
the fast-fading troop-ship. 

" We are brothers after all," answered the 
( aptain, " and have the same customs and 
s])eak the same language. It strengthens one's 
faith in human nature, an act like that. But 
the President — can it be?" and shaking his 
head mournfully, he turned and went below. 

There was deep mourning throughout the 
ship, for our delight in victory and peace was 
at first overcome by the sorrowful tidings of 
the death of the beloved President. There 
was no other news until we hove to for a 
pilot oft' Barnegat, and he brought a file of 
papers which gave us full news of the sur- 
render at Appomattox, and toUl how the great 
Lincoln had been assas.sinated. 


Bv John WniTKHKAn. 

\\'( ) lirothers, one twelve and the 
iither fourteen years old, sat one 
afternoon in their room in a house 
in New York city. The younger 
•v-it;.*.-'!.- ^^,^^ reading, the elder was disen- 
tangling some snarled fishing-lines. No states- 
man unraveling some knotty problem of state- 
craft could have frowned more fiercely, or have 
busied himself more devotedly. 

When he had cleared the tangle he looked 
up at his younger brother, and, after a sigh of 
relief, said : 

" I say. Jack, let 's go fishing ! " 

" A first-rate idea ! But where shall we go ? " 

" Well, I 've thought of asking mother to let 
us go with Uncle John on one of his trii)s to 
Bamegat Bay. He 's down-stairs now. It can't 
do any harm to try it. Let 's go and settle it 
right away." 

Down they ran, like the mouse when the 
clock struck one. 

They found their uncle John talking with 
their mother in the sitting-room. The mother's 
cheerful and pleasant expression seemed habit- 
ual, and proved that she was happy in her home 
and proud of her boys. Her face brightened 
as they came in. 

Jack spoke at once: 

"Oh, I'nclc John, we 're so glad you are 

here! We '\c been talking of a sjjlendid plan, 
but we neetl your help. Will you promise to 
give it ? " 

" Not quite so fast, youngster," replied their 
uncle. He had a rather stern expres.sion, was 
black-browed, and wore a full beard. But for- 
bidding as lie might seem to strangers, it was 
evident, as he glanced at the bright faces of his 
nephews, that it would require litde coaxing to 
enlist his sympathy and aid in any reasonable 
plan they might propose. 

" Come, Jack," .said he, " I see that Will also 
has something to say. As he is the elder, 
let him tell me the plan to which I am at once 
to say yes." 

" Well, Uncle," said Will, " you have often 
told us of your fishing-excursions in Bamegat 
Bay, and this morning we were talking them 
over, and Jack said now that school was ended, 
and we had both done well, — you said so your- 
self, — you might be willing to take us with you 
to your famous fishing-grounds." 

Both boys looked at their mother, evidently 
fearing that she might oppose the plan. She 
seemed to avoid their questioning eyes, and, 
repressing a smile, waited for their uncle's 

He pretended to be very stern. 

" You imagine, then, because it is vour vaca- 


tion, that I have nothing to do ? Do you know 
what voiir "few days' means? Do you think I 
can abandon my business, engage old Captain 
John, and ruin myself in buying fishing-tackle 
and provisions for two hungry boys with appe- 
tites sharpened by the salt air ? Vou must think 
that money grows on trees ! " 

Uncle John, with a smile to their mother, 
continued : " Well, what do you saj- to this ab- 
surd idea ? Do you think 1 should be burdened 
with them during my holiday ? and would you 
be willing to intrust two such madcaps to me 
for a few days ? " 

Now it so happened that she and Uncle John 
had been discussing the very plan that was now 
independently proposed by the boys. 

'• Indeed," said she, seriously, " the boys have 
fairly earned a good vacation by their last term's 
work. Perhaps during the hot summer days a 
trip on the salt water, with the excitement of 
fishing and your good care, would bring them 
back better able to stand the depressing heat of 
the summer." 

" Suppose they fall overboard, run fish-hooks 
through their fingers, or otherwise disport them- 
selves so that I can return to you only two 
dilapidated remnants of the boys I took away, 
will you agree to forgive me ? " 

Jack saw .signs of success in this last speech, 
and burst in : 

"Oh! take us this once, Uncle John; we 
won't give you any trouble ; we '11 be as good 
as kittens. We always keep our promises ; 
mother will tell you so ! " 

'•'Always' is a long word, my dear," said their 
mother, playfully. 

" Now, Mother," said Will, jumping up, " let 
bygones be bygones. If you only say so, I 'm 
sure Uncle John will take us ! " and he went 
and stood by her side. She put her arm around 
him, saying : 

" Well, John, what do you say?" 

•' I suppose I must. It will be a great trial 
to my nerves " (the boys laughed at the idea 
of Uncle John having any nerves), " but it is 
good disciphne." Then, after an exaggerated 
sigh, he said : 

•' When shall we go, boys ? " 

" To-morrow, of course!" said Jack, excitedly. 

" To-morrow, you young rascal ! — why, 1 
Vol. XIX.— 49. 


have got to see Captain John .\nderson and 
secure him and his boat." 

"Write out a telegram and 1 '11 go down to 
the office and send it," said the younger boy. 

"That 's business," said Uncle John; "and 
as I suppose I am in for it, I may as w-ell begin 
at once; so here goes! " 

Sitting down, he wrote the telegram, which 
the boys eagerly seized and they were starting 
oft" with it when their uncle called out : 

" Hold on ! One of you go, the other must 
stay behind ; we 've something else to do besides 
sending telegrams." 

So off started Jack with the ]irecious paper, 
and Uncle John turned to Will. 

" What lines and hooks have you ? " 

"Why, you told us that Captain John jjro- 
vided all the tackle." 

" You 're right, boy, so he does, so he does. 
But then, where are the provi.sions ? " said their 
uncle, with pretended anxiety. 

" But," said Will, " I have you there again, 
Uncle ; you said Captain John provided all the 
eatables, cooked the meals himself, and that he 
gave you ' pretty good fare, considering every- 
thing.' " 

"So he does," said the uncle, again convicted 
out of his own mouth. 

So it was settled, and the boys anxiously 
awaited the reply from Point Pleasant, where 
Captain John lived. 

In the afternoon it came, anti, to the delight 
of the boys, the captain answered that he would 
be ready at any time. Neither Will nor Jack 
knew what was in the message sent by their 
uncle, but the truth is that he and Captain 
lohn had already had some correspondence 
and fully understood each other. The uncle 
announced by his telegram simply that he and 
his nephews would be on hand the next morn- 
ing by the earliest train. 

Bright and early the bo\s were ready ; and 
when Uncle John put in his appearance two 
more joyous youths could not be found in the 
great city of New York. Uncle John was an 
especial favorite of theirs ; they had tried him 
many times, and he had ne\er been found 

It was a bright and beautil'ul day in Juno. 
They made their way down the city, reached 



the slip, and were soon on board the good 
steamer, "Jesse Hoyt." It is quite uncer- 
tain which was the happier of the group of 
three, the uncle or the two boys. Jack was the 
noisiest, for Will expressed his pleasure only 
by his sparkling eyes and heightened color, 
and an occasional burst of enthusiasm ; the 
uncle had little to say. He was proud of his 
nephews and did not hesitate to show his 
pride; his eyes rested on them lovingly and 

The time was so pleasantly occupied by 
their uncle's cheerful, interesting conversation, 
that they were quite astonished when they ap- 
proached Sandy Hook, and were told that here 
they were to land and to proceed by rail for the 
rest of their trip until they met Captain John. 

They had never been on this route and 
everything was new to them. At Sandy Hook 
they took the cars which were there ready to 
receive passengers. As they sped along their 
eyes opened wider and wider at the new scenes : 
the ocean spreading out before them, the houses 
upon the beach with their surroundings of fresh 
green grass, shrubs, trees, and flowers springing 
apparently from the dry sand; Shrewsbury River, 
upon which floated pleasure-boats with their 
white sails and gay-parties ; and Seabright, with 
its group of cjuaint fishermen's huts, clustered 
together, apparently without order. 

As they approached Long Branch their ad- 
miration gave place to wonder. But little time 
was given them to view these various objects, 
as they passed so rapidly. When they reached 
Elberon their uncle pointed out to them the 
house occupied by President Garfield during 
his last illness. Indeed, he did not fail to direct 
their attention to every object of interest. 

Bayhead was gained at last, and as they 
neared the platform Uncle John looked for 
the captain. When the train stopped, the trio 
sprang to the ground; and there stood a tall, 
gaunt, rough-bearded man, seamed and grizzled 
by the hardships of many years' exposure on 
the salt water. But in his fare there lingered 
the kindest expression, and out of his deep- 
sunk eyes there beamed the i;ciod nature of the 
warmest of hearts. Uncle John at once ex- 
tended his hand and said : 

" Well, Captain, iiere we are ; here are these 


boys of mine. Do you think we can give them 
a ducking before we get through with them ? " 

The captain was a man of few words, but 
those who knew him would have known from 
his glance at them that he had taken the young- 
sters under his particular care. 

" Well," he said, " your telegram gave me 
short notice ; yet I think I have made all the ne- 
cessary arrangements. Come along ; let 's see." 

So they gathered up their baggage and left 
the platform, the rough captain leading the 
way. He and Uncle John walked demurely on, 
chatting about old times, but the boys were too 
full of life to repress themselves. They looked 
around, however, to take their bearings, as the 
captain would have said, and saw upon the 
east side of the railroad track a collection of 
houses, modern and tasteful in their architec- 
ture. The boys wished to know who lived in 
these pleasant dwelKngs, and were told that 
Bayhead was a resort for literary peojjle, and 
that several professors of Princeton College 
lived there during the summer. 

As the party passed toward the boat which 
was to take them out to the " Kate," the boys 
noticed that Bayhead was situated at the head 
of a narrow, irregular strip of sand stretching 
southward as far as the eye could reach between 
the bay and the ocean. The bay began at that 
point, and extended to the south toward Cape 
May. Indeed the captain said that at one time 
he himself had sailed, in a litde catboat which 
he owned, almost to Cape May ; the bay was 
an open sheet of water as far as the Creat 
Inlet; below it was much broken up with com- 
paratively large islands, but even then it could 
be navigated by small vessels. 

" Captain, is the water salt ? " Will asked. 

" \\'hy, of course." 

'■ Well, how does the salt water get there ? " 

" From the Atlantic through Barnegat Inlet." 

\\'hile the captain had been talking with the 
boys, the whole party had stopped ; but now 
they began to walk toward the water. .V small 
boat lay rocking by the edge of ihc bank. 
and the captain rowed them out to the K;iie, 
which was anchored a little distance from the 
shore. The boys quickly sprang on board, and 
soon began a thorough examination of what 
was to be their liome for several days. The)' 

A 1'"ISI1I.\(;- Tkll' TO I'.AKNKC. AT. 

found it to ho a sclioonci" of rcceiil make, 
comforiable in all its appointments, anil fitted 
up so that it could pleasantly accommodate 
eight to ten passengers. What pleased the 
boys more than anything else about it was the 
tiny kitchen, wherein was a stove in full blast, 
with pots and pans and all the implements ne- 
cessary for cooking a dinner. But the boys 
were impatient to be off; the sight of the rods 
and tackle which lay on the deck increased 
their impatience to be on the fishing-ground. 


guided l)y that. Hut I have no great necessity 
to notice landmarks, for I have traveled over 
this bay so often that I know all the ins and 
outs of the course, crooked as it is." 

Just at this moment a lad suddenly emerged 
from tlie cabin, the captain went below, and 
the small boy took the captain's place. Soon 
an appetizing odor made its way from the 
cabin ; and then the kindly face of the captain 
showed itself and he announced in the briefest 
manner possible : " Dinner! " 


The captain weighed anchor, set his sails, and 
the vessel was soon gliding down the bay. So 
much attention had been ])aid in the building 
of the Kate to the comfort of the passengers 
that her speed was not great ; but tlie boys 
were delighted with the gentle motion. 

" How ilo you tell where the channel runs, 
captain ? " 

"Well, I tell that in different ways; sometimes 
I take an object which I know to be in a certain 
position with reference to the channel, and I am 

The bo\s' ajipetites had been increased by 
the salt-water breezes, so they joyfully heard 
this pithy speech of the captain. Jack called 
out to his uncle, who was in the bow of the 
boat : 

" Uncle John, dinner is read)- and ue 're 

The imcle had been standing for a long time 
motionless, with his arms folded, looking into 
the water and watching the gliding of the 
K;ite. lie started at ihe sound of the boy's 



voice, rejoined his nephews, and together tliey 
passed down into the cal)in. I'ncle John was 
oljHged to bend his liead, but the boys got 
in without any ditliculty. They had wondered 
where tlie table was to come from, and where 
it was to be set. They found a perfect dinner- 
table extended from the center of the cabin, 
formed by the raising of two swinging leaves, 
which had before rested quietly against a small 
partition which divided the cabin, but was 
only two or tliree feet liigh from the Hoor. 
On this table was spread the dinner. It was 
well served anil well cooked, and the boys 
found It excellent. It was mostly sea-food; 
fish, oysters, and clams being the principal 
dishes. At one end of the table was a large 
piece of corned beef. The boys instantly de- 
termined that they would have none of that. 

They knew that the fish and shell-fish must 
be fresh from the water, and that they must be 
good; and they were good. Such fish, such 
oysters, such clams, they had never tasted before. 
The captain had stood high in their estimation, 
but now he was raised a point higher, and they 
regarded him as the very paragon of skippers. 

To their complete astonishment, after the sub- 
stantials were disposed of, the captain brought 
on pudding and pie ; and, to cap the climax, 
gave them some good coffee. They thought 
that if they were to be treated in this manner 
every day, their cup of happiness would be 
brimming over. It was almost too much for 
Jack. Several times he was half inclined to 
rush out- on deck to give three cheers for Cap- 
tain John. 

After the dinner was over, the captain re- 
sumed his place at the tiller, and the small 
boy took his place in the cabin, to eat his din- 
ner and afterward to clear away the dishes. If 
the supply of eatables had not been bountiful 
and the boys merciful, it is somewhat doubt- 
ful whether the cabin-boy might not have gone 
hungry. Then the captain took his pipe and 
began to smoke, and the boys seated themselves, 
one on each side of him, and begged hard for 
some story of his experience. The captain was 
not much of a hand at story-telling; still, he 
managed to thrill their young hearts with one 
story in particular of how he had been shi|i- 
wrecked, and cast on a barren island with 

three others. They were forced to sustain them- 
selves upon such raw shell-fish as were thrown 
upon the shore by the waves. The boys no- 
ticed, however, that the captain did not seem to 
have his mind much set on the .story-telling, but 
every now and then kept peering around him on 
both sides of his boat. All at once he brought 
the Kate round with a sharp turn, picked up 
the anchor, and threw it overboard. The boys 
opened wide their eyes, and wondered what was 
coming next. The captain lowered the sails 
half-way down the mast, stepped quietly up on 
the deck, selected some rods, then returned, 
and opened what seemed to be a trap-door 
nght under where his feet came when he sat 
at the tiller, and took out some crabs. Jack, 
as usual, was in search of information. He had 
never seen such crabs before, and so he began 
to ply the captain with questions. He wanted 
to know what kind of crabs those were. 

" These are what we call ' shedders,' " said 
the captain, " and they are used for bait. You 
will see presently how we use them." 

" Now, my boy," said the captain, addressing 
Jack, " you seem to be the one in this party 
most anxious to do some fishing. You take that 
rod and throw the hook over on this side of the 
boat. Be careful to keep your hook a few inches 
from the bottom, and see what will come." 

Jack was only too ready, and over went his 
line in short order into the water. It was not 
long before he had a bite, and with a great deal 
more force than was necessary he threw his 
hook, line, and fish up in the air. There, over 
the sail, hung dangling the oddest fish that Jack 
had ever seen. What it was he did not know : 
it was of a dirty yellow color, with a head and 
mouth a great deal larger than the rest of his 
body, which was slimy and disgusting, and ta])- 
ered rapidly to the tail. Jack stood with mouth 
and eyes wide open, looking at his prize, and 
thinking that if this was the kind of fish Uncle 
John caught in Bamegat Bay, — the kind over 
which he had so often gone into ecstasies of 
delight, — he did not care for any more of them. 
Uncle John, seeing Jack's disgust, could not 
help a burst of laughter. 

" Well, Jack," .said he, " you 've got him 
now ! " Will, who was as much disgusted as 
his brother, stood staring at the unluckv fish 

■"9-^^ 1 A FISIIING-TRIP K) HARNKl.AI. 773 

until roused from his amazcmont bv the liearty - ( "ome," said L'nele John, '-and look at my 

laugh of Uncle John. fisli ; and, Captain, you take Jack's fish ofif his 

" Captain John," said Jack, '• will you please hook and bring it liere, and we '11 examine the 

tell me what that is ? " two side by side." 

'• Why, that 's a toad-fish ; or oyster-fish, some Detaching his fish from the hook. Uncle John 

jjeople call it." laid it upon the deck. The captain brought 

" Is this the sort of fish you catch in Harne- Jack's line down from the sail, took the fish 

gat Bay?" t'rom the hook, and laid it beside the beautiful 

" Oh, yes!" said Ca])tain John : '• lots of 'em." one that Uncle John had just caught. 

Jack turned to his uncle with an inquiry on 
his open lips; but just then his uncle felt a 
tug at his line, and up he pulled, deftly and 
quickly, a beautiful shining fish radiant with 
almost all the colors of the rainbow. " What 
a monster!" thought Jack; and, forgetting his 
toad-fish, he rushed forward to his uncle to 
examine this beautiful prize. There it lay, 
beating the hard board with head and tail, 
gasping for air, its life fast ebbing away. 

" Now, this fish of yours, Jack," said the 
uncle, " is not only called the toad-fish and the 
oyster-fish, but, sometimes, the grunting toad- 
fish. There are species of it found all over the 
world, but this is the regular American toad-fish. 

" This fish of mine is called the weakfish. 
Notice its beautiful colors, brownish blue on its 
back, with irregular brown spots, the sides sil- 
very, and the belly white. It grows from one 
to three feet long, and is a very sharp biter. 



When one takes the hook, there is no difficuUy 
in knowing when to pull in. Why it is called 
the weakfish I do not know, unless because 
when it has been out of the water its flesli soft- 
ens and soon becomes unfit for food. When 
eaten soon after it is caught, it is very good." 

Just as Uncle John finished his little lecture, 
an exclamation from Will, who had baited with 
a piece of the crab, and dropped his line into 
the water, attracted their attention. Not quite 
so impetuous as Jack, he landed his prize more 
carefully, and stood looking at it with wonder, 
hardly knowing what to say. At last he called 
out : 

"Well, what have I caught?" 

It \vas a beautiful fish, though entirely differ- 
ent from Uncle John's. It had a small head 
and the funniest httle tail that ever was seen. 
Its back was of a bright brown color, but its 
l)elly was almost pure white ; it was quite round 
and flat, with a rough skin. 

" Turn him over on his back, and rub him 
gently," said the captain. " Do it softly, and 
watch him." 

Will complied, and gently rubbed him. Im- 
mediately the fish began swelling, and as Will 
continued the rubbing it grew larger and larger 
until Will feared that the fish would burst its 
little body. 

" Well," he said, " I never saw anything like 
that, Captain ! Do tell me what this is." 

" This we call, here in Barnegat, the balloon- 
fish. It is elsewhere called the pufter, swell-fish 
and globe-fish. One kind is called the sea- 
porcupine, because of its being covered with 
short, sharp spines. It is of no value for food." 

Jack thought his time had come to catch 
another prodigy ; and when his hook had been 
rebaited by the skijiper, he dropped his line into 
the water, and was soon rewarded by another 
bite. U.sing more caution tliis time, he landed 
his fish .securely on deck instcail of over the 
sail, and exclaimed : 

" Wonders will never cease ! I don't know 
what I 've got now, but I suppose that Captain 
John can tell." 

While he was saying this the fish began to 
utter some sounds that, by a stretch of the im- 
agination, might be called musical. They were 
about as harmonious as the cronk of a fro". 

It was of a dark-brown color, with a head 
larger than the rest of its body, but not dispro- 
portioned. Like the toad-fish, its body tapered 
toward the tail, but not so sharply ; its head 
was shovel-shaped, and just below its gills 
there were two large projecting fins and some 

" C;ive him a pinch just below the gills, and 
see what he will do," said the captain. 

Will was rather afraid to risk the exiieriment, 
but being assured that there was no danger, he 
at once grasped the fish with thumb and finger, 
and was rewarded by a repetition of the musical 

"That is what we call a sea-robin. Perhaps 
your uncle can tell you something about it," 
.said the captain. So they carried the musical 
fish to Uncle John, who was at the bow. 

" That is sometimes called a gurnard," said 
he; "and there are several species of it. Its 
flesh is white and, when properly cooked, it is 
said to be very good." 

" There is a gentleman at Perth Amboy wlio 
always buys all the sea-robins the fishermen 
bring him ; he thinks they are the best kind of 
fish," said the captain. 

In the mean time Uncle John had been 
quietly landing upon the deck several beau- 
ties like the one he had first caught. This was 
too much for the boys; they watched him \ery 
closely to see how he handled his rod and line. 
They noticed that as he dropped his hock into 
the water, he carefully sounded the depth and 
so arranged his line that the hook should be a 
short distance above the bottom, and that he 
kept it in very gentle motion, making, how- 
ever, no sudden movements with it. The boys 
were very intent upon learning how to fish, and 
knowing that their uncle was an old hand, they 
hoped to become expert fishermen by imitating 
him. So, after watching a few moments, they 
took their own rods in hand and were soon re- 
warded by the capture of several fine fish. The 
captain had also taken a rod, and was trying 
to .see what he could do. 

The boys were too busy in attending to 
their own rods to look after the captain, or 
even after their uncle. There was a cessation in 
the biting of the fish; both, however, in hojies 
of success, never relaxed their efforts. All at 


once an exclamation from the captain — in it- 
self a most unusual occurrence — caused them 
to look toward him. They saw him leaning 
over the side of the boat, line in hand, intently 
engaged in trying to draw something from the 
water. What it was neither he nor they coidd 

'■ The landing-net ! " cried the captain ; 
'• (iiiick ' " 

The boys had seen on deck a net gathered 
round a circular iron rod attached to a long 
pole, and Will at once supposed it was the 
landing-net. He instantly sprang for it and 
made his way to the captain. 

" I 'm afraid I '11 break my line," declared the 
captain. " There is something at the other end 
of it; what it is I can't imagine. It is mighty 
heavy ; it is not a fish, or I should know it by 
the motion ; it is something that is giving a 
dead, heavy pull. It does not seem to 
being drawn to the surface, except by its own 
weight. Master Will, follow my line and put 
the landing-net under whatever it may be, and 
see if we cannot land it in that way." 

Will shoved the net down into the water, 
placing it deep enough to get under whatever 
was so taxing the patience of the captain. He 
found that it took all his strength to raise the 
net. By the joint efforts of the captain and 
Will, the prize was brought to view, and to 
their astonishment they found they had caught 
a huge turtle of the hawk-bill species. 

" (Ireen-turtle soup I " said Jack. 

•• ( )h, no ! " said the captain ; " this is a turtle, 
but not that kind. We seldom catch that kind 
with a hook. In fact, I don't remember that 
it has ever been done ; but this fellow is fairly 
hooked. Now, Master Will, lay him over on 
his back, and we '11 see what he is like." 

Will, who was scientifically inclined, exam- 
ined the turtle quite critically, and was aston- 
ished to discover that in many respects it very 
much resembled an ordinarv* duck in its appear- 
ance. Its fore legs were hke the wings; its 
body was round and quite hke that of a duck ; 
its hind legs resembled those of the same bird ; 
and Will began to think of what he had read 
in Miss N. B. Buckley's interesting book, " Life 
and her Children," about the relations between 
the different orders of the animal creation. He 


was interested by the ap|)carance of its head 
and neck. The upper jaw closed over the 
lower, being like the bill of a hawk. This ex- 
plained its name. 

What to do with the animal was the question. 
The captain was a practical man, and he soon 
decided. It was to be taken to the hotel, and 
the next day made into soup, which, while it 
might not be equal to green-turtle soup, would 
sup])ly the needs of a party of hungry fishermen. 

The boys noticed that even while they were 
so intently engaged in taking care of the turtle, 
the captnin had been looking out, apparently 
scanning the surface of the water, and then look- 
ing aloft. By this time the boys had learned 
that when the captain did that he had some par- 
ticular reason for it. So they patiently watched 
and waited, and at last the captain said : 

" Boys, look out ahead and notice whether 
you see anything peculiar upon the surface of 
the water." 

At first they could see nothing, but after- 
ward, almost as far off as the eye could see, 
they thought they saw a peculiar quiver or 
motion just upon the surface, and so told the 

" Now," he went on, "look up in the sky, and 
tell me if you see anything unusual there." 

" No," said Jack ; " nothing but gulls sailing 
about. Once in a while one drops to the water. 
I can see that in New York Bay, any day." 

" Ah ! " said the captain, " I '11 show you 
some sport, now, such as you never saw before. 
Do you know what all that means? " 

" No ! " said both the boys. 

" Well, that means bluefish. I>id you ever 
catch bluefish, boys ? " 

" No." 

" Well, you '11 catch some now." 

The captain weighed anchor, raised the .sails 
and trimmed ship, so as to catch the wind. 
When this was done the boat passed rapidly 
down the bay. The captain now opened a lit- 
tle compartment under the seat, where he still 
sat as he guided the ship by the rudder. He 
took out three long, strong lines, nearly a hun- 
dred feet in length. .-Xt the end of each line was 
a piece of lead, two or three inches long, into 
one end of which was .soldered a large fish-hook. 

" What do you bait with, Captain ? " said Will. 


" Nothing." 

'• Nothing? Do you catch fish with that ? " 

" Yes. You 'II see." 

The uncle knew wliat was coming, and very 
fiuietly took one of the lines, threw out the end 
upon which was the lead and hook, fastened the 
other end securely to the boat, and allowed the 
line to float until there were at least fifty feet 
extended. He then grasped the line, first 
guarding his hands with a pair of stout cotton 
gloves, and stood ready. He had not been 
long in this posture when he began to draw in 
his line hand over hand, quickly and at the 
same time with a regular, steady motion. 

The boys could not understand how any fish 
could be fool enough to bite at a piece of lead. 
But they soon discovered that there certainl)' 
was a fish at the end of the line. It threw it- 
self out of the water and turned and twisted, 
evidently desirous of escaping from the force 
which was dragging it from its native element. 
Uncle John very quietly continued his exer- 
tions until his fish was within a few feet, when 
he lifted it from the water and threw it over 
into the boat. 

" What do you think of that, boys ? " asked 
the captain. 

"Think of that! Why, what a fool that fish 
is ! What is it ? " 

"That 's a bluefish, and a splendid fellow; it 
must weigh at least four or five pounds." 

The boys examined the fish and found that it 
was rightly named. It was blue upon its back, 
with a rounded head and full body. It had 
quite sharp teeth in each jaw ; in fact, the cap- 
tain warned them not to let their fingers come 
too near his jaws. The boys now longed to 
catch one themselves ; .so each armed himself 
with a line and was soon rewarded. Will had 
closely watched his uncle's manoeuvers, and 
imitated them to the best of his ability. He 
soon landed a mate to the one his uncle had 
caught. Jack was too impulsive. He succeeded 
in bringing his fish to the side of the boat ; but 
just at the critical moment he lost his hold on 
the line, it sli])ped from his hands, and away 
went Mr. Bluefish ! 

" Never mind. Master Jack," said the cap- 
tain; "better luck next time! You must be 
careful never to lose hold of the line. One hand 

at least must grasp it, and the other must be 
sure of its hold before you let go with the first." 

Jack did not mourn long over his loss, but, 
(juickly throwing his line, soon hooked another, 
and this time brought his fish in safely. 

" Now," said his uncle, " we have each of us 
caught a bluefish, we have a number of weak- 
fish, and it is hardly worth while for us to con 
tinue the sport longer. I 've litde doubt you 
youngsters are sufficiently tired to make prepa- 
rations for bed." 

The excitement of the sport had in a meas- 
ure subsided, and the boys readily admitted 
that they were tired. So the Kate was rounded 
to, the anchor was slipped,' the sails lowered 
and securely fastened, and the boys and their 
uncle seated themselves and began to examine 
their catch. The toad-fish had been preserved 
at Jack's earnest request. 

The captain began making preparations for 
supper, and selected some of the bluefish and 
soine of the vveakfish. Jack spoke up and said : 

" Captain, I thought after I had finished my 
dinner that I should never want to eat any 
more, but I am about as hungry as ever I was 
in my life." 

" You will have enough," said the captain, 
" and there will be some to spare." 

The captain soon had supper ready for them, 
and there was enough on the table to satisfy 
even Jack's hunger. Then the boys began to 
wonder where they were to sleep. But the 
captain soon solved that problem, as he had 
solved so many others which had ])uzzled his 
young passengers. 

They sat for an hour or two talking quietly 
with their uncle, until they began to nod. Then 
Uncle John called out : 

" Captain, are the bunks ready ? " 

" Oh, yes," said the captain ; " they have 
been ready for some time." 

"Well, boys," said their uncle, "let 's go to 

He led the way, and they found three com- 
fortable beds arranged on the .sides of the cabin, 
with ])illows and sheets and blankets, one for 
each. Oh, how they slept! — with the ripple of 
the waves against the sides of the boat for their 
lullaby I Thus ended the first day of the excur- 
sion into Barnegat Bay. 

■8<,j.l A FISinXC-TRIP TO RARXEC.AT. ']T] 

The rest of their stay was eciually dehghtful, tliat tliuir vacation had l)een in every way a 

and the boys gained steadily in heahh and most profitable one. 

strength until their return. When their mother .\s for Uncle John, he invited the boys to 

received them back safe and sound, she felt go again whenever they could. 


By D. I.. 

iMv tiny daughter Dolly 

Comes frowning from her walk. 
" My hat 's so dreffle big," she says, 
" That I tan't see to talk ! " 


Bv Laura E. Richards. 

[ncsiiii ill the January ,ium/T>-.] 

Chapter IX. 


We had so many friends that I hardlv know 
wliere to begin. First of all, perJiajis, I should 
])Ut the dear old Scotch lady whom we called 
" D. D." She had another name, but that is 
nobody's business but her own. D. D. was a 
thousand years old. She always said so when 
we asked her age, and she certainly ought to 
have known. No one would have thought it, 
to look at her, for she had not a single gray 
hair, and her eyes were as bright and black as 
a young girl's. One of the pleasantest things 
about her was the way she dressed, in summer 
particularly. She wore a gown of white dimity, 
always spotlessly clean, made with a single 
plain skirt, and a jacket. The jacket was a little 
open in front, showing a handkerchief of white 
net fastened with a brooch of hair in the shape 
of a harp. Fashions made no difference to 
D. D. Peoi)le might wear green or yellow or 
purple, as they pleased ; she wore her white 
dimity, and we children knew instinctively that 
it was the prettiest and most becoming dress 
that she could have chosen. 

Another wonderful thing about D. 1). was 
her store-closet. There never was such a 
closet as that! It was all full of glass jars, 
and the jars were full of cinnamon, and nut- 
meg, and cloves, and raisins, and all manner 
of good things. Yes, and they were not 
screwed down tight, as jars are likely to be 
nowadays ; but one could take off the top, and 
see what was inside; and if it was cinnamon, 
one might take even a whole stick, and I). D. 
would not mind. Sometimes a friend of hers 
who lived at the South would send her a barrel 
of oranges (she called it a " bar'l of .iwnges," 
because she was Scotch, and wc thought it 
sounded a great deal prettier than the ((immon 

way), and then we had glorious times; for 
D. D. thought oranges were very good for us, 
and we thought so too. 

Then, she had some very delightful and in- 
teresting drawers, full of old daguerreotypes, 
and pieces of coral, and all kinds of alicum- 
tweezles. Have I explained before that " ali- 
cumtweezles " are nearly the same as picknickles 
and bucknickles ? 

D. D.'s son was a gallant young soldier, and 
it was his hair that .she wore in the harjj-shaped 
brooch. Many of the daguerreotypes were of 
him, and he certainly was as handsome a fellow 
as any mother could wish a son to be. When 
we went to take tea with D. D., which was 
quite often, we always looked over her trea- 
sures, and asked the same questions over and 
over, the dear old lady never losing patience 
with us. And such jam as we had for tea ! 
D. D.'s jams and jellies were famous, and she 
often made our whole provision of sweet things 
for the winter. Then we were sure of hav- 
ing the best quince marmalade, and the clear- 
est jelly ; while as for the peach marmalade — 
no words can describe it ! 

D. D. was a wonderful nurse ; and when we 
were ill, she often came and helped our mother 
in taking care of us. Then she would sing us 
her song — a song that no one but D. I), and 
the fortunate children who had her for a friend 
ever heard. It is such a good song that I must 
write it down, being very sure that 1). D. would 
not care. 

There was an old inaTi, and lu' was mad. 

And he ran up the sleejile; 
He took off his great big hat, 

And waved it over the peoiilc. 

To I). 1). we owe the jireservation of one 
of Laura 's first compositions, written when she 
was ten years old. She gave it to the good 
ladv, who kejit it for manv vears in her treasure- 


drawer, till Laura "s own children were old 
enough to read it. It is a story, and is called: 


Marion Gray, a lovely girl of thirteen, one clay tied on 
her gipsy hat and, singing a merry song, bade good-by 
to lier mother, and ran quickly towards the forest. She 
was the youngest daughter of Sir Edward Gray, a cele- 
brated nobleman in great favor with the king, and con- 
sequently Marion had everything she wished for. When 
slie readied the wood she set her basket down under a 
chestnut-tree, and climbing up into the branches, she 
shook them till the ripe fruit came tumbling down. She 
then jumped down, and having filled her basket was 
proceeding to another tree, when all of a sudden a dark- 
looking man stepped out, who, when she attempted to 
fly, struck her severely with a stick, and she fell senseless 
to the ground. 

Meanwhile all was in confusion at the manor-house. 
.Marion's faithful dog. Carlo, had seen the man lurking 
in the thicket, and had tried to warn his mistress of the 
danger. But seeing she did not mind, the minute he 
saw the man prepare to spring out he had run to the 
house. He made them understand that some one had 
stolen Marion. "Who, Carlo, who?" exclaimed the 
agonized mother. Carlo instantly picked up some A-B-C 
blocks which lay on the floor, and putting together 
the letters that form the word Gipsies, looked up at his 
master and wagged his tail. " The gipsies ! " exclaimed 
Sir Edward; "alas! if the gipsies have stolen our child, 
we shall never see her again." Nevertheless, they 
searched and searched the wood, but no trace of her was 
to be found. 

" Hush ! here she is ! Is n't she a beauty ? " 

" Ves ! but what is her name ? " 

" Marion Gray. I picked her up in the wood. A 
splendid addition to our train, for she can beg charity, 
and a night's lodging, and then the easiest thing in the 
world is just to find out where they keep the key, and 
let us in. Hush! hush! she 's coming to. ' 

These words were spoken by a withered hag of seventy 
and the man who had stolen her. Slowly Marion opened 
her eyes, and what was her horror to find herself in a 
gipsy camp ! 

I will skip over the five long years of pain and suffer- 
ing, and come to the end of my story. 5 years have 
passed, and the new king sits on his royal throne, judging 
and condemning a band of gipsies. They are all con- 
demned but one young girl, who stands with downcast 
eyes before him; but when she hears her doom, she 
raises her dark flashing eyes on the king. A piercing 
shriek is heard, the crown and sceptre roll down the 
steps of the throne, and Marion Gray is clasped in her 
father's arms ! 

Another dear friend was Miss Mary. She 
was a small, brisk wotnan, with " New Eng- 
land " written all over her. She used to stay 


with us a good deal, helping mv mother in 
household matters, or writing for our father ; 
and we all loved her dearly. She had the most 
beautiful hair, masses and masses of it, of a 
deep auburn, and waving in a lovely fashion. 
She it was who used to say, " Hurrah for Jack- 
son ! " whenever anything met her special ap- 
proval ; and we all learned to .say it too, and 
to this day some of us cheer the name of " Old 
Hickory," who has been in his grave these fifty 
years. Miss Mary came of seafaring people, 
and had many strange stories of wreck and 
tempest, of which we were never weary. Miss 
Mary's energy was untiring, her activity un- 
ceasing. She used to make long woodland e.\- 
peditions with us, in the woods around the 
valley, leading the way " over hill, over dale, 
thorough bush, thorough brier," finding all 
manner of wild-wood treasures, creeping-jenny, 
and ferns and inosses without end, which were 
brought home to decorate the parlors. She 
knew the name of every plant, and what it was 
good for. She knew when the barberries must 
be gathered, and when the muUen flowers were 
ready. She walked so fast and so far that 
she wore out an unreasonable number of shoes 
in a season. 

Speaking of her shoes reminds me that at 
the fire of which I spoke in a previous chapter, 
at the Institution for the Blind, Miss Mary was 
the first person to give the alarm. She had on 
a brand-new pair of morocco .slii)])ers when the 
fire broke out, and by the time it was extin- 
guished they were in holes. This will give 
you some idea of Miss Mary's energy. 

Then there was Mr. Ford, one of the very 
best of our friends. He was a sort of facto- 
tum of our father's, and, like The Bishop in 
the "Bab Ballads," was "short and stout and 
round-about, and zealous as could be." We 
were very fond of trotting at his heels, and 
loved to pull him about, and tease him, which 
the good man never seemed to resent. Once, 
however, we carried our teasing too far, as you 
shall hear. One day our mother was sitting 
quietly at her writing, thinking that the chil- 
dren were all hap])y and good, anti possessing 
her soul in patience. Suddenly to her appeared 
Julia, her hair flying, eyes wide open, mouth 
ditto. — the ]iicture of despair. 



"Oh, Mama!" gasped the rhild, '• 1 have 
done the most (h'cadful thing! Oh, the most 
dreadful, terrible tiling!" 

■• What is it ? " exelaimed our mother, drop- 
]]ing her i)en in distress; " what have you done, 
dear ? Tell me, quickly ! " 

" C)h, I cannot tell you!" sobbed the child; 
" 1 cannot ! " 

'• Have you set the house on fire ? " cried 
our mother. 

"Oh, worse than that!" gasped |)oor Julia. 
" Much worse ! " 

" Have you dropped the baby ? " 

" Worse than that ! " 

Now there 7aas nothing worse than dropping 
the baby, so our mother began to feel relieved. 

"Tell me at once, Julia," she said, "what 
you have done ! " 

" I — I — " sobbed poor Julia; " I pulled — 
I pulled — oft" — Mr. Ford's wig!" 

There were few people we loved better than 
" Tomty," the gardener. This dear, good man 
must have been a martyr to our pranks, and 
the only wonder is that he was able to do any 
gardening at all. It was " Tomty ! " here and 
" Tomty ! " there, from morning till night. 
When Laura wanted her bonnet-strings tied 
(oh, that odious little bonnet ! with the rows 
of pink and green quilled ribbon which was al- 
ways coming off), she never thought of going 
into the house to Mary, though Mary was 
good and kind, too ; she always ran to Tomty, 
who must " lay down the shovel and the hoe," 
and fashion bow-knots with his big, clumsy, 
good-natured fingers. When Harry was play- 
ing out in the hot sun without a hat, and Mary 
called to him to come in, like a good boy, and 
get his hat, did he go ? Oh, no ! He tum- 
bled the potatoes or apples out of Tomty's 
basket, and put that on his head instead of a 
hat, and it answered just as well. 

Poor, dear Tomty ! He went to California in 
later years, and was cruelly murdered by some 
base wretches, for the sake of a little money 
which he had saved. 

Somehow, we had not very many friends of 
our own age. I sujjpose one reason was that 
we were so many ourselves that there were 
always enough to have a good time. 

There were one or two little girls who used 

to go with us on the famous maying-parlies, 
which were great occasions. On May-day 
morning we would lake to ourselves baskets, 
some full of goodies, .some empty, and start for 
a pleasant wooded place, not far from Oreen 
Peace. Here, on a sunny slope where the 
savins grew not too thickly to prevent the sun 
from shining merrily down on the mossy sward, 
we would pitch our tent (only there was no 
tent), and prepare to be perfectly happy. We 
gathered such early flowers as were to be found, 
and made garlands of them; we chose a ciueen, 
and crowned her; and then we had a feast, 
which was really the object of the whole expe- 

It was the proper thing to buy certain 
viands for this feast, the home dainties being 
considered not sufficiently rare. 

Well, we ate our oranges, and nibbled our 
cocoanut, and the older ones drank the milk, 
if there were any in the nut : this was con- 
sidered the very height of luxury, and the little 
ones knew it was too much for them to expect. 
I cannot remember whether we were generally 
ill after these feasts, but I think it higlilv 

In mentioning our friends, is it right to pass 
over the good " four-footers," who were so 
patient with us, and bore with so many of our 
vagaries ? ( 'an we ever forget " Oggy the 
Steamboat," so called from the loudness of her 
purring ? Do not some of us still think with 
compunction of the day when this good cat 
was put in a tin pan, and covered over with 
a pot-lid, while on the lid was set her deadly 
enemy, " Ella," the fat King Charles spaniel ? 
What a snarling ensued ! what growls, hisses, 
yells mingled with the clashing of tin and the 
" unseemly laughter " of naughty children ! 

And " Lion," the good Newfoundland dog, 
who let us ride on his back — when he was in 
the mood, and tumbled us off when he was 
not ! He was a dear dog, but " Fannie," his 
mate, was anything but amiable, and some- 
times gave sore offense to visitors by snapjiing 
at their heels and growling. 

But if the cats and dogs suflTered from us, 
we suffered from " Jos6 " ! O Jose I what a 
tyrannous little beast you were ! Never was 
a brown donkey i)rettier, I am (|i;ite sure; 




never did ;i brown donkey have his own way 
so completely. 

Whether a child could take a ride, depended 
entirely on whether Jose was in the mood for 
it or not. If not, he trotted a little way till 
he got the child alone; antl then he calmly 
rubbed off his rider against a tree or fence, and 
trotted away to the stable. Of course this was 
when we w-ere very little ; but by the time the 
little ones were big enough to manage him, 
Jose was dead, so some of us never " got even 
with him," as the boys say. When the dearest 
uncle in the world sent us the donkey-carriage, 

(To bt . 

things went better, for the obstinate little brown 
gendeman could not get rid of that, of course, 
and there were many delightful drives, with 
much jingling of harness, anil all manner of 
style and splendor. 

These were some of our friends, iwo-footers 
and four-footers. There were many others, of 
course, but time and space fail to tell of them. 
After all, perhaps they were just like other 
children's friends. I must not weary my read- 
ers by rambling on indefinitely in these long- 
untrodden paths; but I wish other children 
(ould have heard Oggy purr! 


By Kaik Tannapi Wood 


HE Jollivers were 
a very happy fam- 
ily. The old 
who sometimes 
visited them said 
they were " the 
happiest family he 
had ever seen " ; and 
when you consider 
that the dear old 
man traveled hundreds 
of miles on foot, and 
visited families of all 
.V; I sizes and conditions, his 

word possessed some value. 
When Grandpa Jolliver died and left his sons 
a fortune, made out of pelts and skins brought 
down from the Red River of the North, his 
sons opened a large banking-house in the very 
city where their father had made purchases out 
of vehicles the queerest and cjuaintest ever seen 
on wheels, but familiar to the Western fur- 
traders as " Red River carts." 

The Jollivers grew and flourished. John 

Jolliver was short and stout. Joe Jolliver was 
long and lank. John was fond of a joke, and 
never made one; Joe always made them for 
his brother to laugh over. 

Both were married in the same jjlace, on 
the same day, by the same minister, and they 
married sisters. 

As the children grew about them they were 
happier than ever, for Joe's children were all 
boys, and John's children all girls. People 
hardly knew which family they were visiting, for 
the Jolliver boys were always at Uncle John's, 
or the girls were at Uncle Joe's. 

John Jolliver laughed until his eyes glistened 
when the school-teacher said : " That boy of 
yours will make his mark ; he has a wonderful 
taste for mathematics." John's boys were all 
girls, but he thanked the teacher and told Joe 
about the praise for his boy. 

One day Bessie Jolliver called at the bank- 
ing-house on her way home from school. 

Bessie was just thirteen, and as pretty as a 
rosebud. When she went into the outer office 
and said to Mr. (Iruff, the senior clerk, that 


"she see papa on imponant business," 
Mr. GrutT's wrinkled face looked younger, and 
he tap])ed at the door of the private room. 

Some one said, " Come," and Mr. (iruff 
opened the door a very little. 

" Miss Bessie would like to see her papa," 
said he. 

" Come in, little girl," said John, opening his 
arms at once for her. Bessie went in, and 
seated herself on his knee. 

" I did n't mean to interrupt you. Papa, in hours, but Uncle Joe will please e.\- 
cuse me, for it 's vciy important, and — " 

" Oh. it 's all riglit," said Uncle Joe. "Don't 
mind uie." 

How could he say anything else with that 
bright, beaming face before him? 

Her hat was tipped back, her rippling, 
tantalizing hair fell softly over her brow and 
touched her rosy cheeks, and when she spoke, 
deep dimples peeped out among the roses. It 
was a sight to brighten any spot, or gladden 
any heart. 

" You see," said Bessie, eagerly, " it has just 
come out, you know ; for the telegram came 
last evening, and they are all packing up, 
and 'Din' must be sold." 

" Your pronouns are rather confusing, my 
dear," said her father 

" You have jumped into the middle of your 
.story, pet," said Uncle Joe. 

"Oh, yes! Well, it 's the Needhams. Old 
Judge Needham has sent for Mrs. Needham 
and the boys to come to New York at once ; 
they are to meet a friend of his at Hastings to- 
morrow, and everything must be sold, and Ned 
Needham almost cried when he said Din must 
be sold. Din knows ever so much. Papa; and 
the crusty old judge won't let the boys keep 
him ; and Ned said, perhaps — if — he knew I 
would be kind to Din, and I said, if you were 
willing, and Uncle Joe did n't mind, — why, you 
see, I just adore donkeys, Papa." 

Uncle Joe joined John in laugliing, but Bes- 
sie's sober face silenced thtm. 

" What am 1 to understand from this, little 
daughter? Do \'ou wish me l<i jiurchase a 
small donkey for you ? " 

"Why, of course, Pa|)a ; it 's Din Needham I 
Kveryliody knows him; he 's as cuiming and 


gentle as can be, and Necl rides him u]) to the 
Falls, and everywhere." 

" Ned is a boy, you know." 

"Yes, Papa, but Ned's cousin rode Din all 
last summer when she was visiting here: and 
it 's so nice to ride a donkey all by yo\irself, — 
they look so much wiser than ponies." 

"So the poor ponies will stand in the stable 
henceforth ? " 

"Oh, no. Papa; I will only ride Din a little 
to keep him in order; anil _\i)u will. now. 
won't you. Papa ? " 

Then Bessie JoUiver patted her pa])a's cheek 
with one hand and i)ulled his whiskers wiih 
the other, as she looked coaxingly in liis 
round, full face. 

Uncle Joe winked slyl.\' at his brother, and 
then struck a little bell on tlie table. A young 
clerk came at once. 

" Harrison, I wish you would step round to 
Needhams' on Nicollet Avenue and tell them 
to send round the donkey for our inspection." 

" Oh, no, Uncle Joe dear, please don't," e.x- 
claimed Bessie as she left her father to grasj) 
her uncle's hand, " please don't. Din looks so 
nice in his own stall with his cunning blanket 
on ; and if you and papa would n't mind, it 's 
such a little way, and — and — " 

So it came to pass that both brothers walked 
along the .streets of St. Paul in tlie glorious 
noonday sun, and between them ran, skipped, 
and danced Miss Bessie. 

The little stable was wonderfully neat and 
pretty. Ned Needham was there with his 
younger brother Eugene, and they were en- 
gaged in showing Din to a coarse-looking 

Ned's eyes brightened when the wealthy 
bankers came in. Eugene hastily wijjed awav 
some suspicious moisture from his eyes, for the 
rough man had just said : 

" He 's good enough to wollop around on 
after the cows." 

The idea of their beautiful, sleek Din being 
"wolloped" anywhere, and e.specially after 
cows, by a rude hertl-bo\' ! It was dreadful 
to Eugene; it was even worse to Ned, for he 
liad spent many happy hours on Din's back. 

Ned blushed when he saw Bessie's smiling 
face, and he at oiue put the bridle in her hands. 

i89=.l Tin: JDI.I.INKK 

" Well, liusincss is business," said the rough 1 
man. " I '11 give you just twenty-five dollars tor 
the brute with the saddle, blanket, and bridle. 
Vou 've got to sell, and money is money to a 

John Jclliver stepped forward then. 

" How much do you ask for him?" said he, 
kindly, to the boys. 

" Mama said we ought to get fifty dollars 
with his outfit; papa paid more than that for 
the saddle and bridle." 

" Would you like the inone)- for your journe\' 
to New York ? " 

" Oh, no, sir ; grandpa will ])ay our expenses. 
He told us to get what we could for Din and 
our own things, 
and leave the 
money with you." 

John Jolliver 
looked at Joe, 
and Joe raised 
his eyebrows. 

" We knew your 
father, Ned," said 
John, speaking 
for the fimi. 

" Yes, sir," said 
Ned, not dating 
to look up. 

"He was a good 
tnan, and 1 am _ - - 

very sorry you 

must go away ' '••■'-'■ '■■,o..o.,.^,, 

from us. Still, 

your grand])a knows best, and I dare say he 
will give you every possible opportunity." 

The coarse man here interrupted : 

" I don't know what you want here, Squire, 
but I came after that donkey; it 's just the sort 
of thing for my herd-boy to use, and if he 's got 
any nonsense in him I 'm the man to take it 

Eugene drew nearer Bessie, and Ned spoke 
out bravely : 

•' We don't wish to sell Din to do such work ; 
he was a present to me from pa|)a on my ninth 
birthday, and I would rather kill him now than 
ha\e him abused." 

" You 're mighty smart, young feller ; but you 
need n't |iut on any airs with me! 1 'm liluiit. 

..\Ki:v. 783 

I am, and everybody knows that your ' [laju ' 
owed more money than can ever be [jaiil, since 
he passed in his checks so suddenly." 

John Jolliver's eyes flashed, and Joe Jolliver 
was seen to double up the fingers of his right 
hand, yet neither of them said n word to the 
coarse creature who could hurt the feelings 
of two fatherless children. Mr. Needham had 
been dead but two months ; he had been a kind 
husband and an affectionate father, and consid- 
ered a inan of wealth ; but some unfortunate 
investments had impoverished him previous to 
his sudden death. Had he lived, he might have 
maile his way to better times, but strangers 
were left to settle his estate. 

" I will purchase your donkey, Ned," said 
John Jolliver; "and you shall name your own 
terms. As for you, sir," said he, turning to the 
unfeeling stranger, " I think you need not 
trouble yourself to tell these fatherless boys 
of their misfortunes. Money can escape from 
all of us, but a kind heart and a pleasant word 
are current coin everywhere." 

The stranger walked off without a word, and 
Joe Jolliver said to his brother, " It was hard 
work to remember my Quaker training ! " 

That very night Din was taken to the pretty 
stable where the Jollivers' horses were kept, and 
all the children marcheil out to see him in his 
new quarters. 

The Jolli\ers lived in a double house with a 


beautiful ganlcii behind it; and just around the riages, and drive up in time to come Iiome with 

corner of the block, at the end of a pretty drive- the children ? " 

way, stood the stable with its French roof and " Or, better still, let us surprise Aunt Russell 

handsome doors. .\11 the Jollivers knew that by taking tea with her, and drive home by 

the donkey was jjurchased for Bessie, but that moonlight," said her sister. 

did not matter. John Jr. gave it sugar, and tried " Excellent," said Mrs. Joe. 

the comb and brush on its glossy sides; Percy In less than ten minutes Percy Jolliver was 

braided its mane; Bessie patted and hugged it, running down the hill on his wav to the bank- 

aud each and all hung about it until the groom ing-house, with a note for "John or Joe." 

said " they matle more fuss over the little beast 
than over all the fine horses in the stable." 

The Needhams came round to say good-by, 
and all the Jollivers waited upon them to the 
stable, where Din winked knowingly at them, as 
much as to say, " 1 'm quite comfortable here." 

When Saturday came, Bessie and John Jr. 
started for the Falls of Minnehaha. It was 
only a pleasure trip, and, like true Western chil- 
dren, they were as much at home in the satldle 
as your grandma is in her rocking-chair. 

" You may take dinner at your aunt Russell's, 
and come home early in the afternoon," said 
Bessie's mother. 

" You may come whenever Bessie is ready," 
said John Jr.'s mother. 

The children started ofl" in fine spirits, and 
all the Jollivers shouted good-b)' from the back- 
piazza steps. 

When they w'ere fairly under way, a fancy 
came to Mrs. Joe, and she left her work of 
putting out the children's clean clothes for 
Sunday, to run across the large hall which 
separated the two houses. 

" Sister," said she, "suppose we take the car- 

The JoUiver ladies very often addressed their 
notes in that manner, for Mr. John might be 
out and Mr. Joe in, or Mr. Joe out and Mr. 
John in ; and every one knows that family 
notes on family matters should be answered 
at once. 

John Jolliver was in, and he at once re- 
plied, " Yes, we will go. Lunch at one o'clock 
sharp, and order the horses at one-thirtw" 

Then there was hurrying to and fro : three 
Jolliver girls to dress, and three Jolliver boys 
to make ready. However, it was all done 
without fretting, for the JoUivers helped one 
another, and everyone had a place for every- 
thing. .\t half-past one o'clock, both families 
came out of their respective front doors and 
went down the steps to tiieir respective (car- 

Each coachman cracked his whip, and each 
horse was ready for duty. Once out of the 
city, they traveled faster. 

" How surprised Bessie will be ! " said Bes- 
sie's sisters. 

" .And how surprised John jr. will be! " said 
John Jr.'s brothers. 


" Aunt Russell will he so delighted," said 
Mrs. Joe ; " she always enjoys our visits." 

When they reached Aunt Russell's fine farm, 
not far from the Falls of Minnehaha, she was sur- 
prised and delighted also, but neither Bessie nor 
John Jr. had been there at all. Then every 
Jolliver looked sober, and in one comer the gen- 
tlemen talked in a low tone with Uncle Russell. 

••Indians?" said Mrs. Joe. 

•' Never," said Aunt Russell ; •• there is n't 
an Indian within fitly miles that would hurt a 
white man." 

" Lost their way ? " said Mrs. John. 

" Nonsense," said Aunt Russell ; •• they both 
can come here blindfolded." 

'■ We will settle the matter," said Uncle 
Russell. " We men will run into MinneapoHs, 
and hunt them up. 1 'm inclined to think that 
the donkey is the cause of the trouble," and 
away went the gentlemen to town. 

The streets were full of people, for every- 
body was going to the circus. The afternoon 
performance began at three. 

" Have you seen two children, — a girl riding 
a donkey, and a boy mounted on a black pony ? " 

Every one said " No." At last, near the 
square where the tents were pitched, a man said : 

"Yes; I saw 'em in the procession." 

Mr. Joe and Mr. John looked at each other 
in astonishment. Their children had never 
before deceived them in all their lives. This 
was a very sad day to the indulgent fathers. 

Uncle Ru.ssell bought tickets, and they went 
in. The crowd was so great the children could 
not be seen, even if they were in the tent. 

They walked twice about the nng, but neither 
Bessie nor John Jr. could be found. 

" We inust wait," said Uncle Russell. 

At last the trumpet sounded, and the grand 
march began. The elephants, the horses, the 
acrobats, the " freaks," and then the ponies. 

" Good heavens ! " e.xclaimed John Jolliver, 
" there are our children in the procession ! " 

Joe Jolliver saw them at the same moment. 
Bessie did not raise her eyes, but John Jr. 
looked eagerly about. He caught sight of his 



" We may find them in the tent," said Uncle father's face, and quickly raised his hat and 


'■ Never! " said John Jolliver. " My Bessie 
is a timid little woman and avoids a crowd." 

Over and over again they asked : 
Vol. XIX. — 50. 

nodded toward the tent where they had entered. 

Before the march was over, Joe and John 

and Uncle Russell were in the performers' tent, 

and when pretty Bessie came out, the first 



persons slie saw were her uncles and her own 
dear father. 

" O Papa ! " she cried. " C) Papa, take us 
away. We could n't help it. Din r^'w/Zir/ come! " 

Bessie began to cry, and John Jr. told the 
story, which the manager thus confirmed : 

" We were pretty near the bridge, sir, when 
your young people came along ; and as soon as 
that donkey heard the music, he broke and ran 
for a place in the lines. He would have it, 
he did have it, and our best trained ponies had 
to give way. The young man is a .splendid 
rider, and so is the young lady; \ve would n't 
mind having such, any day. But we tried our 
best to turn that donkey out, as soon as we 
got here. He would n't go, and so I told 
the 5'oung folks to wait until the afternoon 
performance was over, and he would be tired 
out. The young lady did n't dare dismount 
for fear he 'd get away. When he heard the 
trumpet to form into line, he was like a wild 
creature. You see, he has been trained to it, 
and he remembered it all at once. I offered 

to buy him, but the young lady would n't sell 
him, and so we made up our minds to let 
him perform, and then he would go away 

Sure enough. Din had once belonged to a 
circus company, and Mr. Needham had bought 
him when he was laid up with a lame foot. 

So Din found a good home,' and the groom 
soon cured him ; but the children never knew 
until that eventful day that his droll tricks were 
taught him in a circus-ring. 

When the grand march was over. Din was 
tired and glad to go out into the fresh air. 

" Better shut him up until we leave town," 
said the manager, " or he may break and run 
after us. The music sets him wild, you see." 

Bessie's father took his advice, and Din was 
put in a stall at the Russell farm. 

The Jollivers had a merry supper at Aunt 
Russell's, and rode home by moonlight; but 
poor Bessie was much mortified when she saw 
in her papa's morning paper an account of the 
queer antics of Jollivers' Donkey. 

once lived in a hollow tree, 

.\nd he was as wise as wise could be. 
The branch of Learning he did n't know 

Could scarce on the tree of knowledge grow. 
He knew the tree from branch to root, 

And an Owl like that can afford to hoot. 



And he hooted — until, alas! one day 
He chanced to hear, in a casual way. 

An insignificant little bird 

Make use of a term he had never heard. 

He was flying to bed in the dawning light 


When he heard her singing with 
Hurray! hurray for the early worm 
"Dear me!" said the Oul, '• what 
I would look it up if it 
were n't so late; 
I must rise at dusk 
to investigate. 
Early to bed and early to 
Makes an Owl healthy -^ 
and stealthy and 
wise I " 

all liLT might, 
a singular term ! 

So he slept like an honest Owl all day, 
And rose in the early twilight gray, 

And went to work in the dusky light 
To look for the early worm all night. 

He searched the country for miles around, 

But the early worm was not to be found. 
So he went to bed in the dawning light, 

And looked for the "worm" again next night. 
And again and again, and again and again 

He sought and he sought, but all in vain, 
Till he must have looked for a year and a day 

For the early worm, in the twilight gray. 

At last in despair he gave up the search. 

And was heard to remark, as he sat on his perch 
By the side of his nest in the hollow tree, 

"The thing is as plain as night to me — 
Nothing can shake my conviction firm, 

Tluic 's no such thiit^ as the early -worm." 


By Charlks F. Lummis. 


'■ the December i 

Chapter V. 

An Indian who dwells in a house at all 
seems no Indian at all to most of us, who 
know none too much about our own coun- 
try. We picture him as living in his wigwam 
or tepee of bark or hide for a few weeks 
or months at a time, and then moving his 
" town " elsewhere. 

There are some tribes of civilized natives in 
the Indian Territory who have learned to dwell 
in ordinary houses and to give up their rov- 
ing ; but that is a lesson they have mastered 
only within the last few years. There is but 
one Indian race in North America above Mex- 
ico which has always Hved in houses since their 
history began. And in very similar houses they 
dwell to-day, and in very much the same style 
as before the first European eyes ever saw 
America. There are hundreds of ruins of these 
enormous community-houses scattered over the 
territory of New Mexico, and a few are still 
inhabited. The most striking example in use 
is the present pueblo of Taos, in the extreme 
north of the territory. That wonderfully pictur- 
esque town — looking at which the traveler finds 
it hard to realize that he is in America — has 
but two houses; but they are six .stories high, 
and contain some three hundred rooms apeice. 
Acoma, in a western county, has six houses, 
all three stories high ; and Zuiii, still farther 
west, has a six-story community-house, cover- 
ing many acres and containing several hundred 
rooms. As for ruins of such buildings, they 
are everywhere. Some- years ago I discov- 
ered, in a remote and dangerous comer of the 
Navajo country, such a ruin, " The Pueblo 
Aha,'' — the type of countless others, — in which 
the five-story community-house formed an en- 
tire rectangle, inclosing a public square in the 

middle. The outer walls of these houses never 
had doors or windows, so they presented a 
blank wall of great height to any robber foe. 
On one side of this ruin is a great tower, with 
part of the fifth story still standing, and still 
showing the loopholes through which the 
besieged Pueblos showered arrows on their 
besiegers. This pueblo was a deserted and for- 
gotten ruin when the first European entered 
New Mexico, three hundred and fifty years ago. 

All these great houses were built of stone, 
very well laid. The outer edges of all these 
slabs of stone are as smooth as if it had been 
chiseled — and yet we are absolutely sure that 
before the conquest the Pueblos had no metal 
tools whatever. Their only implements were 
stone axes and the like. 

The architecture of the Pueblos is unique 
and characteristic ; and their original houses 
look like nothing else in the world. They are 
all terraced, so that the front of a building looks 
like a flight of gigantic steps. The second 
story stands well back upon the roof of the 
first, which gives it a broad, uncovered porch, 
so to speak, its whole length ; the third storj' is 
similarly placed upon the second, and so on 
up. There are no stairs inside even the largest 
of these buildings — except sometimes ladders 
to go down into the first story, when that is 
built in the old fashion, without doors In 
Acoma, which has over seven hundred people, 
there are but six doors on the ground ; and to 
get into the first story of any of the hundreds 
of other houses, you must go up a ladder to the 
first roof, enter the second story, lift a wee trap- 
door in its floor, and back down another ladder 
to the ground floor. All the stairs are outside 
the house and can be moved from place to 
place — a plan which has its advantages as well 
as its drawbacks, for they are all simple, 
clumsy, and astonishingly tall ladders. 


All these architectural peculiarities were for 
purposes of defense. The lower story was a 
dead wall, into which an enemy with only abo- 
riginal arms could not break — and some of 
these walls have defied .-Vmerican tield-pieces. 
The ladders could be easily drawn uj) ; and 
the level roofs made an excellent position from 
which to rain stones and arrows upon the foe. 
Even if the enemy captured the first roof, the 
people had only to retire to the second, from 
which they could fight down with no less ad- 


liantly whitewashed, according to the Pueblo 
custom, with gypsum. The rafters are the 
straight trunks of tapering pines, stripped of 
their bark ; and above these is a roof of straw 
and clay which is perfectly water-tight. The 
doors and windows are all small, — another 
relic of the days of deadly danger, — and in the 
more ancient houses the windows are only thin 
sheets of gypsum. Nearly every room has its 
queer, southwestern fireplace, in which the 
sticks are burned on end. Those for heating 



vantage. Even where a terraced house stood 
alone, it could easily be defended against a 
far superior force ; and as a rule the tenements 
were built around a square, so that their sheer 
back walls presented a cliff-like face w^hich no 
savage foe could scale, and their fronts faced 
upon the safe common inclosure. At Fecos, 
the largest of the pueblos, and at many smaller 
ones, an Indian could step from his door and 
walk around the whole town on any one of the 
tiers of roofs. Sometimes these community- 
houses were terraced on both sides ; and the 
two at Taos are like huge pyramids, sloping to 
the top from all four sides. 

The stone walls are plastered inside and out 
with adobe-clay, which makes a smooth, sub- 
stantial wall and looks verv neat when bril- 

alone are very tiny, and stand in a corner ; but 
the cooking fireplaces often fill one side of 
a room, and under their capacious " hoods " a 
dozen people can sit. 

.■\s you may imagine from what has been 
said of their houses, the Pueblos are very pecu- 
liar and interesting Indians. They live very 
neatly and comfortably, and their homes are 
generally as clean as wax. They are peaceable 
and industrious, good hunters, but farmers by 
profession — as they have been ever since the 
world first found them. They have always 
elected their own officers, and obey the laws 
both of their own strange government and of 
the United States in a way which they cer- 
tainly did not learn from us — for there is no 
American community so law-abiding. They 




are entirely self-supporting, and receive no- 
thing from the government. They are Indians 
who are not poor, who are not lazy, and w-ho 
do not impose servile labor upon their wives. 
One of my Pueblo neighbors in Isleta lent the 


money to pay off the soldiers in New Mexico 
during our civil war 1 

Quite as interesting and remarkable as the 
best types of the Pueblo communal architec- 
ture, though in a different way, are the ruins 
of their still more ancient homes. It was long 
supposed that the so-called " Cliff-builders" and 
"Cave-dwellers" were of an extinct race; but 

as soon as there was any really scientific inves- 
tigation of the Southwest, the fact was fully 
established that they were Pueblos. Indeed, 
we now know even some of the history of the 
most remarkable of all these ruins. Tlie Pueb- 
los used always to build in places 
which nature had fortified, and 
almost invariably upon the top of 
"islands" of rock. Those who 
found themselves near one of the 
peculiar terraced cafions which 
abound in some parts of the 
Southwest generally built their 
town upon the shelves of the 
cliff; while those whose region 
furnished precipices of easily 
carved stone, usually hollowed 
out caves therein for their dwell- 
ings. It was all a matter of lo- 
cality and surroundings. 

A canon of the " Cliff-builders" 
is a wonderfully picturesque and 
interesting place. The rock strata 
were a great aid to the builders 
of those quaint chasm-towns, and, 
indeed, probably first suggested 
to them the idea of putting their 
houses there. As I have said, 
these canons are always terraced. 
The cliffs are six to ten times as 
far apart at the tojis as at the 
bottom, and a cut the 
canon would look something like 
the letter V. 

Sometimes there is a running 
stream at the bottom ; but as a 
rule, in this arid region, the dry 
season leaves only a chain of 
pools — which were, however, 
enough for the water-supply of 
these curious communities. The 
several lower shelves of the gorge 
were never built upon ; and the water was all 
carried in earthen iars or tight-woven baskets 
on the heads of the industrious housewives sev- 
eral hundred feet u]) the cliff. 

]!ut safety was before water; and so liie 
swarthy people built their homes far up the 
side of the receding cliff. And there was a 
great saving of labor. .\ik1 there, too, the 



" Clift-builder " found that nature had made 
ready to liis hantl three of the six sides of ever)' 
room. The smooth, sohd rock of the shelf 
was his floor, and a narrow but endless i)orch 
outside as well. The overhanging rock of the 
ledge above was his roof — frequently a very 
low one — and the face of the intermediate 
stratum was his back wall. He had only to 
build three little stone walls from stone floor 
to stone roof, and there was his house ! 

These clift-rooms were extremely small, vary- 
ing somewhat according to the strata, but sel- 
dom more than a dozen feet long, eight or ten 
feet deep, and five to eight feet high. In 
many of them no ordinary person could stand 
erect. There were seldom any windows ; and 
the doors — which served also as chimneys — 
were very low, and but twelve or fourteen 
inches wide. An enemy at the very door 
would be so crouched and cramped in enter- 
ing, that those within could take him at a dis- 

Think of a town whose sidewalks were three 
or four feet wide, and more than that number 
of hundred feet apart, and had between them 
a stupendous gutter five hundred feet deep '. 
Think of those fat, dimpled, naked brown ba- 
bies whose three-foot playground had no fence 
against a five-hundred-foot tumble I 

There are several of these canons of the 
" Clift-builders " near the town of Flagstatt, 
Arizona — gigantic gashes in the level upland. 
to whose very brink one comes without die 
remotest suspicion that such an abyss is in 
front. One of these caiions is over twenty 
miles long, and six hundred feet deep in 
places. It contains the ruins of about a thou- 
sand of these remarkable cliff-houses, some of 
which are very well preserved. The Canon 
de Tsayee, with its mummies, was another 
abode of the " Cliff-builders " ; and there are 
many more scattered over parts of Arizona, 
New Mexico, and Colorado. In most of these 
houses there is little left Furniture they never 
had, and most of the implements have been 
carried away by the departing inhabitants or 
by other Indians. The floors are one and two 
feet deep with the dust of ages, mingled with 
thorns and nutshells brought in by the chip- 
munks which are now their only tenants. Hy 

digging to the bedrock floor I have found fine 
stone a.\es, beautiful arrow-heads, the puzzling 
quoit-like stones, and even ba.skets of yucca- 
fiber exactly like the strange " plaques " made 
in Moqui to-day — but these crumbled to dust 
soon after they were exposed to the air. 

Between the chft-houses of which I have 
been speaking and the cave-dwellings, there is 



a very curious and startling link — houses, or 
even whole towns, built in natural caves! 
The Montezuma Well is such a one, and there 
are several others, of which the best example 
is the wonderful cave-village on the Mancos. 



These caves are not, like the Mammoth Cave, 
great subterranean passages and chambers, but 
vast hollows — generally bowl-like — in the 
face of a cliff. They absolutely protect the in- 
closed town, above, at both sides, and often 
also below — as they are usually well up from 
the bottom of the cliff, and between is a steep 
ascent which no enemy could scale in the face 
of any opposition. Such towns could be cap- 
tured only by surprise. The romantic Cueva 
Pintada,* which only half a dozen white men 
have ever seen, is a very good type of these 
caves on a smaller scale — being only about 
fifty feet in diameter. It looks very much like 
the bowl of a gigantic ladle set into the cliff 
fifty feet from its base, and has several artificial 
cave-chambers, but no houses of masonry. 

To me the real cave-dwellings are the most 
interesting of all these strange sorts of prehis- 
toric ruins. They are perhaps no older than 
the cliff-houses; but they seem so much farther 
from our world ! To enter them almost carries 
one back to the time when our own ancestors 
— and all mankind — dwelt in holes and wore 
the skins of beasts : those far, dim days when 
there was not even iron, and when fire itself 
was new, and the savage stomach was all the 
conscience and brains that man knew he had. 

The most extensive and wonderful cave- 
communities in the world are in the Cochiti 
country, on the west side of the Rio Grande, 
some sixty miles northwest of Santa Fe. The 
country itself is well worthy a long journey to 
see, for it is one of the wildest on earth. The 
enormous plateau is divided into ])illars by 
dizzy canons from the mountains to the deep- 
worn river ; and the mesas t which separate the 
canons run out in long triangles, so that when 
they break off in thousand-foot cliffs in the 
chasm of tlie Rio Grande their points are so 
narrow as to look from the front like stupen- 
dous columns — whence the Spaniards named 
them potreros, pillars. 

The whole region for very many hundreds 
of square miles — and indeed like the larger 
part of New Mexico — is volcanic. When I 

was a boy in New England, I thought the 
floating-stone with which I scrubbed my dingy 
fists was a great curiosity ; but in the gorges 
of the Cochiti upland are cliffs a thousand feet 
high, and miles long, entirely of this pumice. 
There is in these cliffs enough stone " that will 
float " to take the stains from all the boy hands 
in the world for all time. 

In this awe-inspiring wilderness several tribes 
of Pueblo Indians dwelt in prehistoric times. 
It did not take them long, probably, to learn 
that in such a country of soft cliffs it was rather 
easier to dig one's house than to build it — 
even when the mason had no better tools 
than a sharp splinter of volcanic glass. The 
volcanoes did some good, you see, in this land 
which they burned dry forever; for in the same 
cliff they put the soft stone in which any one 
could cut a house, and nuggets of the ex- 
tremely hard glass which the same eruption 
had made, wherefrom to chip the prehistoric 

In the beautifully picturesque canon of the 
Rito de los Frigoles f is a very large village of 
caves, which was deserted long centuries ago. 
It has more than a thousand rooms dug from 
the bright cliff; and outside were more rooms 
yet, built of big cut bricks of the same rock, 
but now fallen. 

A few miles farther up the river are two 
castle-buttes of tufa, rising high upon the top 
of the plateau itself; and in these are hundreds 
of other cave-houses — and on the top of the 
largest chff the ruins of a large square pueblo 
built of cut blocks of the same convenient 

In this same wild region, too, are the only 
large stone idols (or, to speak more correctly, 
fetishes) in the United States — the great 
Mountain Lions of Cochiti, carved in high re- 
lief from the solid bedrock on the tops of two 
huge mesas. To this day the Indians of Co- 
chiti before a hunt go to one of those almost 
inaccessible spots, anoint the great stone heads, 
and dance by night a wild dance which no 
white man has seen or ever will see. 

Painted Cave," so calleJ fiom Uie 
adorn its concave walls. 

strange pictogiaphs or pictur 
t Table-Kands. } Br. 

i-uritinys in red oclior which 
ok of tlie lieans. 


{For Vt-ry Little Folk.) 

By Km'harine Pvle. 

A KITTEN once lived all alone 

In a little yellow house ; 
It lived on crusts of bread and cheese, 

And now and then a mouse. 

To the yellow house the rat would come, 
And strike the door — knock! knock! 

The kitten's tail would stand on end. 
It gave him such a shock. 

.\ robber rat lived in a wood — 
K gloomy wood — close by; 

He had sharp teeth, and a pointed tail, 
And a wicked, restless eye. 

Then in the rat would lioklly march. 
" What have you here ? " he 'd say ; 
And then he would steal the bread and cheese, 
And carry it all away. 




k^ r^ 

!| J A C K- 1 N - T H K - P U L P I T. 

Now that you have had a little time to rest, 
beloved hearers, we will see what our wise ones 
have to communicate upon the really pressing 
need of 


First let us give respectful attention to Brother 
Rossiter Johnson who sends us "by particular re- 
quest" a letter, part of which is here shosvn you : 

One of the commonest of proverbial expressions 
assumes that a song is the cheapest of all things; yet 
the richest country on eartli is witliout a national song. 
Thirty years ago it offered six hundred dollars for one ; 
l)ut the song was not forthcoming, though the condition 
of affairs in our country seemed calculated to call forth 
all the lyric energy that any poet possessed. And in- 
deed a few fine poems were produced, but no song that 
fairly claimetl the prize. 

We have the "Star-Spangled Banner," and sometimes 
we sing it and make ourselves think we are enthusiastic; 
but the least critical of us feels that it is too clumsy to 
he a good song or a good poem ; and I suspect it has a 
fault even more radical than its uncouth rhythm. It is 
not good art to make a picture of a picture, or to sym- 
bolize a symbol. To illustrate this, hold up side by 
side a photograph from an oil-painting, and one from 
life. Though tlie American flag is to our eyes the most 
beautiful of all one can find in a forest of shipping in 
any great seaport, and though it represents the finest 
country and the most progressive people on. earth, and 
though your heart sometimes comes to your throat when 
yon think what has been achieved under it, stdl, it is only 
a picture and a symbol. No star-spangled rhymes, or 
allegorical representation of Freedom tearing the sky 
into strips of bunting, will ever make an effective and 
enduring national song. When the song arrives, we 
shall find that it somehow deals directly with the na- 
tional power and destiny, not with any conventional 
symbol or picture of it. 

"Yankee Doodle" lias its uses as a tune; but no 
words that are nut doggerel ever have been set to it, 
and it is doubtful if any can be. Samuel Francis Smith 
wrote a respectable hymn beginning " My Country, 't is 

of Thee." liut its candidacy for the place of national 
song is killed at the outset by the fact that it is set to the 
tune of another nation's hymn. Then, too, how should 
we ask some millions of our citizens to sing " Land 
where My Fathers Died," when they left their fathers' 
bones in various parts uf Europe ? — or how expect 
much accent on " I^and of the Pilgrims' Pride " from 
the throats of those who take no pride in the pilgrims ? 

That is n't a very encouraging view, is it ? The 
Little Schoolma'am looked quite blue when she 
had read this, but Deacon Green was n't at all 
disturbed by it. 

The Deacon says there is much truth in what 
Brother Johnson has set forth, but there is also 
something to be considered on the other side. 
We do not ask everybody to join in our National 
Song; but we ask to have such a song for those 
who would like to express their patriotistn melo- 
diously and poetically. 

If any who dwell in these L'nited States do not 
yet feel love and loyalty to the nation, they are not 
yet citizens of this country, but merely sojourners 
on our soil for their own ends. Thty are not even 
adopted children until tliey will adopt in some 
degree our national traditions, interests, hopes, 
and enthusiasms. 

Never fear. We can wait for the right song. 
For temporary needs, we have created excellent 
songs before now. And when the right song — 
the national song — is written, there will be an 
enthusiastic grand chorus of men, women, and 
children to sing it. They will sing it with all 
their hearts, too. If there happens to be a mental 
reservation in a line or two, what harm does that 
do, so long as the singer swells the great chorus 
with full sympathy ! 

The Deacon is patriotic, you see. And mark how 
the Little Schoolma'am is smiling again ! I believe 
the Deacon is right. My birds have criss-crossed 
over the whole country, from Maine to Texas, and 
their reports are most encouraging. So far as they 
can see, the whole nation is sound — not a cracked 
place in it. " When the right touch is given it 
will respond with no uncertain melody," the Little 
Schoolma'am says. 

The Deacon and other elders have done quite 
enough to introduce the fluttering batch of letters 
piled around the pulpit. Let us turn to the younger 

Here is a strong letter from a regular Declara- 
tion of Independence youngster: 

Dear Jack: It seems to me that "Yankee Doodle" 
ought to be out of the question as the national hymn. 
The tune is, I am pretty sure, an English one: "The 
Rogue's March." And the words, as you know, were 
written in derision. Not much of a combination for 
Americans! " Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean " is the 
English song," Britannia, the Gem of the Ocean," with 
Columbia substituted for Biitannia. " Hail Columbia" 
is an English air; and. though I am not positive, I think 
is the English " Hail Hritannia." "My Country, 'tis 
of Thee " has for its music the English " God Save the 
Queen," the Germiin " Heil Kaiser dir," and the national 
airs of several other countries. " The Star-Spangled 
Banner," on the contrary, was written by a Continental 
officer, Philip Key, I believe, and the music was by an 



American also. So I .-.houkl ihink tliat being entirely 
American it ought lo be the one for Americans, in pref- 
erence to any of foreign origin. 

Sincerely yours, II. L. D. 

.And here is something that the Deacon does not 
attempt to dispute : 


Dear "Jack-in-THK-Plili'IT": In regard to your 
question, "What is the National Hymn?" I reply — 
" My Country, 't is of Thee." " Yankee Doodle," " The 
Star-Spangled Banner," or any of the others mentioned, 
may be national airs, but I hardly think they are hymns, 
because hymns are of a more sacred order. 

M.\RV Kellogg. 

A bright letter signed " A Patriot " dismisses 
"Yankee Doodle" with the remark, "I do not 
think we want anything even verging on a comic 
song " : it declares that the two Columbia songs are 
not well enough known, and makes the usual ob- 
jection to " IMy Country, 't is of Thee" — that it 
is English. "The Star-Spangled Banner," the 
writer claims, is "original, grand, well loved, and 
well known. It is inspiring, and will draw cheers 
quicker than any other patriotic tune. Whenever 
I hear it, I am glad that I am an American, and, 
like a small boy of my acquaintance, feel that I 
should "like to hug my country!'" 

Among many other advocates of the same stir- 
ring song are Ethel N. N., Nelly D. B., Algeria 
Trude G., Lina Nyburg, Agnes, and Charlie G., 
Jr., who calls it the American Marseillaise. The 
choir declaring for " Mv Country, 't is of Thee" 
are Robert O. C, "The Princess," A. C. G., 
Henrietta Slade, Ahce J., Carrie E. Leinbacli, 
May H. F., Bessie A. Meyers, and Marguerite A. 
Speckel, and the last mentioned makes a strong 
argument for the song and quotes it in full. "Hail 
Columbia " has the backing of Lewis G. W. and 
Luellen D. Taylor, and " Columbia, the Gem of 
the Ocean " has only one advocate this time. 

A young lover of peace and concord makes a 
novel proposition. She inquires why some one 
cannot fit the words of " My Country, 't is of 
Thee" to the music of " The Star-Spangled Ban- 
ner." Perhaps if she will seek some quiet place, 
and try the effect of mi.'iing the two very cau- 
tiously, she will not insist upon an answer. 

After a careful weighing of all the opinions pre- 
sented, your Jack is inclined to consider "The Star- 
Spangled Banner" as the strongest existing claim- 
ant to the honor of being the National Song. But 
the National Hymn does not seem to be yet settled 
by our boys and girls. The Deacon says — and 
I 'm inclined to think he is right — the National 
Song is one thing and the National Hymn an- 
other, and they should not be confounded. The 
National Hymn should be to the same air in all 
countries, though the words may differ. The Lit- 
tle Schoolma'am says that in Bayard Taylor's 
" Song of the Camp," when the soldiers united 
their voices, 

' I'^ach heart recalled a different name, 
But all sang ' Annie Laurie.' " 

\n singing a hymn, all men are brother men. But 
in singing a national song, they are simply patriots. 


Now for a different problem. Here is the diffi- 
cult question, What is Love ? answered by Sylvia 
K. E., and she ought to know, for slie is eleven 
years old : 

What is Love? Mow can I tell? 
-iVsk the stars, they know as uell; 
Ask the waves that rise and fall ; 
See if they know, question them all. 
If they know not, come again; 
Maybe I can tell you then. 

They can't tell you ? Well, I can : 
Love is not only found in man. 
No! it comes from God alone — 
Comes from him, the Corncr-Stone. 
See how freely it is given ; 
.Surely it must come from Heaven. 

Now we will take up another deep subject: 


The average depth of the Atlantic Ocean, so the 
Little Schoolma'am informs me, is two and a half 
miles, or over 12,000 feet. Yet I know a pretty, 
white-breasted gull who believes it is not over a few 
inches deep. You see, he catches his fish right at, 
or just below, the surface, and naturally, that 's all 
he knows about it. 

Just before we separate, and you resume your 
summer study of the ocean, the lakes, the rivers, 
the woods, and outdoors generally, J.-\CK wishes to 
acknowledge three bright letters from May H. F., 
Ruth and Josephine S., and G. B., and to show 
you a charming bit of verse sent \ou by Elizabeth 



Thou trifling thing, 
Bright of color. 
Light of wing, — 
Hast thou, then, no other care 
Than to ornament the air? 
Hither, thither. 

High and low. 
Why and whither 
Dost thou go? " 
" From the garden to the hedge, 
From the field-flower to the sedge, 
I flutter, flutter everywhere. 
Save to be fair 
I have no care, — 
An idler am I." 
" O fie ! O fie ! 
Hence, thou useless thing, away ! 
Nay ! — thou needed beauty, — stay ! " 


CONTRIDUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscript can- 
not conveniently be examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consenuently, those who desire to favor the 
magazine with contributions will please postpone sending their MS.S. until after the last-named date. 


In regard to signaling at sea, about which two stories 
are printed this month. Captain Smith, author of " ' What 
News?' — in Mid Ocean," sends some interesting facts. 
The ancient galleys made signals by hoisting and lower- 
ing sails, showing shields, or building bonfires. By the 
thirteenth century flag signals were invented, and by the 
seventeenth century there was an attempt to form a code. 

The International Code, which enables ships of all 
nations and languages to exchange messages, was dt 

San Remo, Italy. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I will tell you about the Carni- 
val. There were some girls on the parade by the sea, 
selling violets. We bought some and put them in our 
carriage to throw at people. The procession began at 
one end of the town and went through to a piazza, where 
it turned around. On either side of the street, the win- 
dows, doorways, balconies, and stands were filled with 
people who showered the carriages and coaches with 
flowers and confetti as they passed. Some coaches w-ere 
beautifully decked with flowers, roses, daisies, or menoza- 
blossoms. The people inside wore gay-colored dominoes 
to match, and we pelted each other as we passed. There 
vised by the British Government in 1856, and gradually are prizes awarded to the finest carriage and person on 

adopted by other nations — by the United States in 1871. 

It is a great advantage of this system that the number 
of flags in a single signal shows at once whether it is an 
urgent or an ordinary message. For long distances, 
where it would be difficult to see colors or patterns, 
three flags or other objects, one round, one pointed like 
a pennant, and one rectangular, may be used instead 
of the pattern flags shown in the pictures given with 
Captain Kennedy's story. 

Boys might find it interesting and useful to invent sim- 
ple codes and signals of their own, and may take a hint 
from the marine boat-signals, in which two hats, two 
handkerchiefs, and two planks.or long strips of any kind, thers, and we all take a paper except myself. 

foot. The former receives two thousand francs. Asw^e 
passed one stand, the confetti came so hard and fast that 
the bottom of our carriage was covered. Some people 
threw papers witli mud in them, which were quite hard. 
The balconies were often decked with bright-colored silks, 
and the people wore dominoes to match. 

Your interested reader, Richard R . 

P. S. — We await the St. Nicholas the more eagerly, 
because we are so far from home. 

CoMPTON, Canada. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy ten years old. 
My sister takes St. Nicholas. I have also two bro- 

are used. Thus, a sailor standing with his hat held up 
-so as to look round, and on hisWeft another sailor hold- 
ing the plank, means " Vou are running into danger." 
The army-signals by the flag, and signaling by flashes 

Among our pets we have a dog whose name is " Toby," 
which my brother and sister brought from Florida in a 
basket, so you see he is a great pet. 

Lately (not having been able to go out, it has been so 
stormy) I have spent a great deal of my lime in reading. 

of a small mirror (an Indian invention), are also very and I am very fond of Sir Walter Scott's novels; but 
interesting. "ly brothers like Dickens better. I have already read 

" Woodstock," " Kenilworth," " Peveril of the Peak," and 
By an oversight, which we regret, the name of Miss I """ii now reading " Rob Roy." 

One reason, perhaps, why I like .Scott's books so well 
is because there is so much history in them. I got a 
better idea of the Earl of Leicester in " Kenilworth " than 

Helen Maitland Armstrong, the artist, was incorrectly 
printed in the table of contents of the July St. Nicholas, 

I ever did in any history. 

Believe me, dear St. Nicholas, your faithful reader 
Philip A. H. K . 

.•\delaide Terrace, Perth, 

Western .\ustralia. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write 
and tell you about a very funny pony I saw the other 
day. I was out riding, and we stopped at a little cottage 
to get some water. As we drew our horses up at the door, 
a little yellow pony came and poked its head into the 
room. A woman, who was inside the house, came up 
to the pony and gave it a plate of meat (it looked like 
hash), and the funny little creature began to eat it with 
great relish. He evidently expected his meat supper how much I like your magazine. I gave my papa 

E. B. — Mr. Trowbridge has never, to our knowledge, 
published a sequel to "The Tinkliam Brothers' Tide- 

BooNE, Iowa. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write you 

when he came and stuck his head in at the door. Th 
man who gave us the water to drink said that the pony 
would eat anything, and would drink porter. 
Your loving reader and well-wisher, 

Sandra C . 

' Over the Teacups," by Oliver Wendell Holmes, a jeai 
ago last Christmas. It had the " Broomstick Train ; or. 
The Return of the Witches," and before ihey knew it I 
had it all by heart ; and they gave me a witch's spoon for 
my birthday. I like Holmes's poetry very much. 



I was very sick last winter, so that I did n't see any of my papa's health, who is an officer in the navy. The chief 
my friends tor ten weeks. Papa is going to let me take sport here in winter is coasting. The hill which we coasted 
Delsarte lessons and German lessons because he will not on is about three quarters of a mile long. We used sleds 
let me go to school. He is going to gel me a pony, so which are called travelers ; they arc made by putting a 
I can be outdoors in nice weather. I am so sorry for sled at each end of a long board. It was fun when a 
the little girl that been sick three years. lot of us got on and rode down together. The coldest 

I want my papa to be a poet like Holmes, but ])apa it has been here is forty-two degrees below zero, and we 
says poets are born, not macle, so 1 think I have written have had nearly three months of sleighing. 

enough. From your friend, Loiust: R . There was a little fawn which we went to see quite 

often; it was caught in the mountains when it was only 

Paris, France. a few weeks old. There was a bear seen in the village St. Nicholas : I have taken you for a year last summer, and a guide tried to kill it, but it got away, 
and seven months, and 1 like you very much ; 1 am sure Good-by. Your constant reader and friend, 
you are the nicest m.igazine in the work). Fannie G . 

We have a darling little dog called ".iVfrite" 

(it is an Arab name) ; he is a little Blenheim, 
and such a little beauty. He knows all sorts of 
tricks ; he can die for his mistress, beg, ask, jumj) 
over papa's leg, dance, and play hide-andseek. 
When he thinks some one is going to hurt his 
mistress, he whines and cries like a baby. He 
loves going out, and when he sees us putting on 
our h.its he begins howling and barking with joy. 
One need only say, " Yes, dear, we are going you 
know where," or simply, "Yes," or "Out," and 
he goes down-stairs to have his collar put on. 
When he is out he runs like a wild thing after 
the birds. 

My father is French and my mother is English, 
but she was born in Canada. I am twelve years 

From your admiring reader, 

Makie de B . 

Boston, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas: My home is in Halifax, 
Nova Scotia, but I have been living in Boston for 
nearly two years now, though I don't like it nearly as well 
as Halifax. I have been at boarding-school now for about 
four years, and like it much better than I do day-school. 

.\ few summers ago my mother, my brother Louis, near the islands you see the famous volcano Mauna 
and myself went to Bridgewater, N. S., for the summer. Loa, thirteen thousand feet in height. Half-way up this 
W'e went by coach ; and all the way along, on the roofs mountain is Kilauea, the volcano which is one of the 
of the houses, we saw haddock spread out in the sun to most terrible and active of volcanoes. You may see 
dry. They looked so funny all spread open and lying red-hot lava flowing for miles into the sea. In the Sand- 
there salted, and ready to be called " Finnan Haddy." wich Islands are many beautiful mountains. Most of 

I like you very much and look forn^ard every week to the natives are half civilized. Hawaii, which is Ihe 

Jl die AC 

Sandwich Islands. 
Dear St. Nicholas : There are few islands as beauti- 
ful as those lying far out in the Pacific Ocean. As you 

reading you. 

Your interested reader. 

Muriel A- 

West Poi.nt, N. Y. 

My St. Nicholas : I have seen only one letter 
from dear old West Point, so I thought I would write, 
that you might hear oftener from this town. 

We have the dearest pony that was ever born, and a 
dear old cat that is just as good-natured as he can be. 

I don't like to ride on the pony because he has a very 
rough gait, but I love to drive him when he does not 
kick up too much. 

What do you think I saw on St. Valentine's Day? I 
saw some dear little bluebirds. I think that was pretty 
early, don't you ? 

I am very much interested in your new story, "Tom 
Paulding," and I am almost wild to know whether Tom 
finds the hidden treasure. I like " Two Girls and a Boy " 
very much, too. I must stoj) my letter now. 

I am vour devoted reader, Betty .M . 

Bloomingdai.e, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl, and have 
taken you three years, and like you very much. 
We spent the winter in the .Adirondack mountains for 

largest island in the .Sandwich group, is about the size 
of Connecticut, and the most beautiful. It is said that 
Hawaii contains a river of lava ninety miles long. Its 
chief occupation is raising sugar, which grows in great 
quantities. The Sandwich Islands were settled about 
1775 by Captain Cook, who was afterward killed by the 
natives. Honolulu has many beautiful residences. There 
have been a few earthquakes, but not any very serious 
ones. -Among the races that live there are .Americans, 
Englishmen and Chinese. About one half of the whole 
population are natives. There are beautiful sandy beaches 
m Honolulu, and it is delightful to see the big waves dash 
up on the shore. In the s.and are small holes, and, if 
you poke a stick into them, little crabs will come out and 
run into the sea. There are a good many sharks in the 
bay of Honolulu, which makes it dangerous for any one 
to swim out very far. They are very bold, and w ill come 
quite near a person. Honolulu is twenty-one hun- 
dred miles from San Francisco. There are about one 
hundred thousand tons of sugar raised every year. In 
Hawaii there is a lake from which rises a cliff seventy 
feet high, and the natives take pleasure in jumping 
from it into the lake below. The bottom of this Jake 
has never been found. Hundreds of years ago the place 
where this lake is was a volcano, but it got filled with 
water. The missionaries came to the S.indwich Islands 
in 1820. At that time the natives were not half civilized. 



The natives thouglit tliat Kilauca was a goddess, and 
tliat any one wlio weni near her would be thrown into 
the lake of red-hot lava by this goddess whose name was 
"Pelc." But the queen, when she heard the mission- 
aries speak about Christ, thought the natives were wrong; 
so, to prove it, she climbed tlie mountain and looked into 
the crater, then she came down in safety. This changed 
the natives' opinion ; but some of them still think that 
a goddess dwells in Kilauca. 

I Iiope the ones who read this will have a chance to 
see the Sandwich Islands. This was written by a boy 
who lived there six years. Ke.vneth A . 

" Hedgerow, West Hii.l," 

Weli.sboro, Tioga Co., Pa. 

Dear Old St. Nicholas ; This afternoon I, the 
youngest of six girls, have been having such a pleasant 
time reading the last number of St. Nicholas. We 
have taken you ever since you were born, or rather ever 
since tliere was any such magazine as St. Nicholas, 
and I think we shall take you until you or we die. 

We have a very pleasant home here in northern Penn- 
sylvania. We have animals, a tennis-court, which we 
change into a skating-pond in the winter, and a lovely 
orchard. In Mrs. Richards's story, " When I Was Your 
Age," I am very often reminded of how we play in our 

I have been to Washington two or three different win- 
ters, and I think it must be the nicest city in the world, 
but of course I do not know. Of all the interesting 
things I saw there, I think I liked the National Mu- 
seum almost the best. One day I went there alone, and 
stayed all day taking notes on the curious old things. 
Then I wrote a composition on them. 

Mama says I am quite an athletic girl. I love to play 
tennis, skate, swim, ride horseback, and take long walks. 
I have walked seventeen miles in one day. 

I am not going to tell any of my family that I have 
written this letter, because if it is printed I am going to 
have it a surprise to them. Good-by. 

Shirley P . 

Washington, D. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In your last number I saw- a 
letter from a little girl who spends the summers at Mount 
Vernon. I should think that would be lovely. I have 
been down there, and we watch for it every time we go 
down the river in the summer. It is very interesting to 
know about the things we read about in the " Letter- 
box." Some friends give you to us every Christmas. 
We have taken you since 1887. There are six girls of us, 
and we all read you, from the oldest down to myself. I 
am fourteen. 

On Washington's Birthday we went to a Colonial Re- 
ception, where we met the Chinese Minister and his 
secretary. The minister can't speak English, but the 
secretary does very well and acts as interpreter. They 
were very much interested in a little girl who was with 
us (Senator Palmer's granddaughter), and talked to her 
a great deal. A young lady offered the minister some 
chocolate, which he immediately offered to the little girl. 
She declined it, and the secretary explained that it is the 
custom in their country, when they receive a present that 
they appreciate, to give it to some one they like. When 
they went away the minister shook her hand and left in 
it a half-eaten wafer whicli she fs going to keep as a sou- 
venir. He seemed to think it all very funny, and laughed 
all the time. Both he and the secretary were in their 
native dress, with their queues down their backs. 

Eunice R. O . 

Louisville, Ky. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am very fond of you, and we 
have been t.aking you ever since I can remember. I am 
now fourteen years old. I have something to tell you 
wliich I think you would like to know, and hope you 
will print it for the benefit of your many readers. In 
school, the other day, one of my teachers said that the 
sun was gradually losing its heat, and that Mars was 
getting nearer and nearer to the sun, while we are get- 
ling nearer to Mars. She said some astronomers think 
Mars will drop into the sun and help to give light for about 
seventy-five years, and then the earth will drop in, to 
give light to the other planets. She told us that we look 
to the stars as they do to us ; she also said that astrono- 
mers are trying to find out if Mars is inhabited, and tlial 
if there is an atmosphere around the star it has life in it; 
and if there is vegetable life, there are generally people. 
The astronomers think there is an atmosphere around 
Mars, but have not made any telescope strong enough 
to make cert.ain their suspicion. I hope that none of us 
will be living wdien the earth is burned up. 

I remain your faithful reader, Eliza B. McG . 

Stonington, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for seven 
years, and have only written you once in all that time. 
Some few months ago I saw a letter in the " Letter-box '' 
from a girl (if I remember rightly), in which she men- 
tioned having some original portraits by Rembrandt 
Peale. I would like to say that he is my great-uncle 
by marriage, and that we have a portrait of Washington, 
painted by him, and taken from life; also several others, 
members of our family. Mrs. Peale copied so well that 
her husband said he could not tell her paintings from his 
own. We have a picture of Martha Washington painted 
by her, copied from one of Mr. Peale's. 

Most of the girls and boys who write to you speak of 
their pets. So I will tell you that we have a dear little kit- 
ten whom we have trained to jump up on the music-box 
which stands near the front door, every time she goes 
out. We never let her out unless she does this. We also 
have a pony which we enjoy very much. Although I 
am quite a liig girl I am not yet tired of your delightful 
magazine. Your fond reader, Rieta W. B . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: M. M. M., Ethel- 
bert C, Winifred B., Leigh B., .MaryF., Lallah St. J., 
M. M., Jessie M. W., Margie C, II. Lynne P., Helen 
S. K., Janie P., Ruth S., Lottie K. C, R. E. S., \Vm. 
S. W., E. G. A., Martha T., M. K. S., M. E. C. and 
H. W., Alice C. H., Harry C," Holly-hock,'' Terol, E. 
L. B., Mabel and Margaret C, Edelhertv and Dorri^, 
Florence IL, Bessie C, R. C. S., E. C. M'., Corinne \V.. 
Eleanor P. M., Anna N., P. I., Lowell W., Nancy \V. 
D., Hetty .•\., John W., Pansy F., Lena A. and Grace L,, 
Florence and Elizabeth E., Lula D, and Ethel L., Elisa 

E. W., Thomas B. Jr., Helen M., Winnie N., Harry 

F. N., M. S. H., Margaret D. C, E. G. H., Nora C. U., 
" Blondie," Neely C. T., Beatrice F. M., Marguerite R., 
Muriel A., Albert J. W., A. P. W., Struthers B., Ethel 
G., Elm, Inez L., Emily B., Estella S., -Mary O'B., 
Edna C Bessie K. F., .\. M. F., Germaine J., .Adelia 
M. F., Edith Louise B., Norma L. C, Male L. F. B., 
Emily L. E,, Geo. D. G., Albert C. S., W. J. C, Inez 
P., M. (". v., Marion M., Charlc'.te and Alice, Josephine 
McC, Ethel J., Angle R. C, Mav O'B., Lauretta S., 
Howard J. M., II. C.., A. M. J., and Nathan A. 


Double Primal Acrostic. Freedom: liberty. Cross-words: 
I. Florid. 2. Riddle. 3. Ebbing. 4. Eclpot. 5. Dragon. 6. Otiose. 
7. Mystic. 

Rhymed Word-square, i. Music. 2. Unite. 3. Siren. 4. Items. 
5. Cense. 

Zigzag. The Nero of the North. Cross-words: i. Tea. 2. Aha. 

3. Woe. 4. One. 5. Eke. 6. Ore. 7. Ag... 8. Foe. 9. Fly. 
10. Ate. II. Ich. 12. Net. 13. Nab. 14. Cob. 15. Jar. 16. Ate. 
17. Hob. Anagram. Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

Numerical Enigma. "A St,ar for every State, and a State for 
every Star." 

A Hexagon. Cross-words ; i. Mast. 2. Asher. 3. Shamed. 

4. Templet 5. Relate. 6. Deter. 7. Term. 
Central Acrostic. Centrals, Helluo librorum. Cross-words: 

I. acHes. 2. glEan. 3. caLyx. 4. taLly. 5. flUtc. 6. shOck. 
7. daLly. 8. grill. 9. saBrc. 10. baRds. 11. wrOng. 12. stRay. 
13. glUme. 14. caMeo. 
Double Wori>square. Across: i. Oast. 2. Alto. 


St. Andrew's Cross r,F Diamonds. I. 1 
lea. 4. Pedants. 5. Tense. 6. Ate. 7. S. 
. Noter. 4. Settled. 5. Relet. 6. Det(er) 
. Ear. 3. Ended. 4. Saddled. 5. ReUly. 6. Dcy.' 7. D. IV. 
Baled. 4. Sallied. 5. Reign. 6. Den 


D. V. 
3. Yodel. 4. Deduced, s- Sects. 6. Les(son). 

Sere. Downward : i. Oars. 2. Aloe. 3. Star. 4. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas •' Riddle-box," a 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the May Nu 
Blankeand Co.— Paul Reese — J 

Pi. The sun hangs calm 

The earth lies bathed in shimmering noon. 
At rest from all her cheerful noise. 

With heartstrings silently in tune. 
The time, how beautiful and dear. 

When early fruits begin to blush. 
And the full leafage of the year 

Sways o'er them with a sheltering hush. 

Double Acrostics. I. New-ton. Cross-words ; i. Newt. 

2. Echo. 3. Wren. II. Scot-land. Cross-words: i. Soil. 2. Coma. 

3. Open. 4. Tend. 
3. Roar. Rhomboid. Across: i. Humic. 2. Sarah. 3. Tires. 4. Strap. 

Tore. 5. Sodom. Riddle. A shoe. 

in the magazine, must be received not later than the isth of each month, and 
re of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

■ed. before May 15th, from Maude E. Palmer — Alice Mildred 

and Alpha Slate Co.' 

' Uncle Mu 

nd Alice— Mama and Ja 

Ida Carleton Thallon — Josephine Sherwood — " Leather-Stocking " — Blanche and Fred — E. Kellogg Trowbridge. 

Answers to Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 15th. from Tanet R. C, i — Ada B. Lackler, i — Grace 
I. Shirley, i — Carrie Chester, i — S. M. G., i —" Pickwick," i — "Only I," t — Ebine S, , 3— Minnie and Lizrie, i— Genevieve B 
Mattingly, i — Sarah and Jennie, i — Charlotte, I — Beatrice F. M., i — Eleanor White, i — Toby T., Jr., .and Tom P., Jr., 2 — Charies 
S. Townsend, 4 — Eleanor White, i — Lena Quinn, i — Vinnie Hongley, 1 — " Lillian A.," i — M. Farrister and M. E. Breed, i — Lewis 
Don, I — Nage Rheatan, 2 — Elizabeth C. Giant, i — Eleanor Ogier, i — Effie K. Talboys, 8 — Louise and Beth, i — Jas R. Sharp, 9 — 
Gwendolen Reid, 3 — L. O. E., 14— Edith Woodward, 4— Hubert L. Bingay, 11 — Mabel and Aunty, 14— Sarah E. Schuyler, i — 
Nellie M. Archer, 5 — Rosalind Mitchell, 4 — Dora and Violet Hereford, 6 — Julia Johnson, i — Mama and Marion, 4 — Emily Good- 
nough, 3 — E. M. G.. 14 — We Girls, 10 — No Name, New York, 3 — Harry and Mama, 9 — Helen S. Coatcs, 7— Laura M. Zinser, 3 — 
Cornelia Wilcox, 14 — " Two Giris." 10— " May and '79," 9— Charies H. Munch, 2 — Harry Day Brigham, 14- Nellie L. Howes,? — 
"Two Big Confederates," 10— E. K., 2— "Three Blind Mice," 6— Rosalie Bloomingdale, 7 — Anna A. Crane, 4 — Mama and 
M. H., 2 — Jessie Chapman, 4 — Ckira B. Emerton, 2. 


I. I. The flower of a plant. 2. Extensive. 3. The 
path described by a heavenly body. 4. The arch which 
crosses a Gothic vault di.Tgonally. 5. Rhythm. 

II. I. The ground where a battle is fought. 2. To 
furnish. 3. That which is educed. 4. Riches. 5. To 

The first words of these two squares, when connected, 
will form the name of an English poet. 


Cross-words (of equal length): i. Model, 
of the United States. 3. .\ device for cafchi 
rodents. 4. A round building. 5. .^ headland 
allied. 7. To endure. 8. .\ liquid measure, 
used for wine, equal to one third of a tun. 


ng certain 
6. Closely 
, formerly 


A FAMOUS novelist : 


EllT yowell gludon-dor si desserd 

Ni agal-yda ratite ; 
Het gongwil drewdee yb eht nefce 

Sishen kile a onscrim rife ; 
Dan rofm het oth defsil hatfrest dege 

Het scrikcet fost franeri 
Thiw molwel cantce stell eht late 

Hatt sugtau's creh naiga. 


Mv primals spell the name of an admiral who died in 
August, 1870 ; and my finals spell the name of a general 
who was born in .\ugust, 1 769. 

I. Upper Square: i. A shell-fish. 2. To run 
swiftly. 3. Pain. 4. A beverage. 

II. Left-hand Square: i. A dull color. 2. To 
efface. 3. One of the great divisions of the globe. 4. To 

III. Right-hand Square: i. Part of a plant. 2. An 
imaginary monster. 3. Minerals. 4. A critical trial. 

IV. Lower Square: i. .-V place of trade. 2. Sur- 
face. 3. To raise. 4. Sharp. a. p. c. a. 




I AM composed of ninety-nine letters, and am a quota- 
tion from an address by David Dudley Field. 

My 64-23-56-12 is of great size. My 48-94-36-70-S3 
is a popular game. My 2-40-8S is to fight with the fist. 
My 80-75-19-73 is a joke. My 31-6-34-44 is money. 
My 16-27-86 is to cover with frosting. My 77-9S-3S- 
92-52 is to blight. My 54 is a letter that is much used. 
My67-li-20-5S is one of the United States. My 8-S4- 
42 is a cover. My 29-61-45-89-49 is to cut into thin 
pieces. My 15-65-24-5 are worn by all, and my 32-9- 
74-79-63-46 is the material of which they are often made. 
My 22-60-69-99 15 a prison. My 82-25-72-96 is the 
main stock. My 14-1-91-85 is soapstone. My 35-26- 
17-47-87 is to 'burn slightly. My 59-68-41-55-21 is 
worthless matter. My 4-50-7-81-97-71-51-28 is costly. 
My 37-93-78-10-43-95-13 is to stammer. My 53-30- 
66-39-90-76 is a craving for food. My 18-57-3-62-33 
is a name for any one who cannot guess this enigma. 

o. It. 1;. 

I. To weaken. 2. Caustic. 3. To disperse. 4. A 
literary composition. 5. Hurled. 6. A term used by 
printers which means " erases." 7. A color. c. 


I. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. A useful metal. 
4. A prong. 5. To dye. 6. Measuring. 7. Denomi- 
nating. 8. Deserving. 9. Relaxing. 




--'*— -i-^'^s^ 

States ; from 7 to 8, a fortified town of Portugal ; from 
I to 5, a kingdom of Asia under French protection ; 
from 2 to 6, a seaport city of Brazil ; from 4 to 8, a large 
island; from 3 to 7, a city of .\rabia. .\i. A. s. 


From i to 2, a city of Belgium ; from i to 3, a city of 
northern Africa; from2 to 4,a river of the United States ; 
from 3 to 4, the name of a river and two lakes in the 
State of New York; from 5 to 6, the capital of the Philip 
pine Islands ; from 5 to 7, a province of the .\ustrian 
Emjiire ; from 6 to 8, the capital of one of the Southern 

From 1 to 2, a harsh, shrill noise ; from I to 3, bur- 
dened; from 2 to 3, rehearsed; from 4 to 5, ridiculed; 
from 4 to 6, inferred; from 5 to 6, erased. 



Across: i. Illustrious. 2. A relative. 3. To fool 
away time. 4. A kind of cement. 5. Concise. 

Downward: i. In knife. 2. A preposition. 3. To 
command. 4. To spring. 5. Splendor. 6. Besides. 

7. Transposed, to endeavor. S. .\ German pronoun. 
9. In knife. alick c. c. 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When placed one below the other, in the 
order here given, what will the central letters form ? 

Cross-words : 1. The outline of the country by the 
sea. 2. A large, strong rope. 3 A bird allied to the 
parrot. 4. .\ portable, covered vehicle for one person. 
5. .\ large piece of paper. 6. A thin cake. 7. Correct. 

8. Not the same. 9. Alert. 10. A native Indian prince. 
II. Furnished with a pike. 12. .^n autumn fruit. 
13. Habitations. 14. To flinch. 15. To move about with 
hesitation. 16. Superior. 17. Irritation. 18. A pink 
substance sometimes found in a lady's jewel-box. 19. To 
turn over. 20. To change. 21. The buccal cavity. 
22. Very unusual. 23. An arbor. 24. .V )>ugihst. 
25. Faithful. 26. .\ sharp instrument for cutting. 




(Sei; jia^e 807.) 


Vol.. XIX. 


No. 1 1 . 

By Tudor Jenks. 

tened breathlessly. If the salute should go no 
further, they would know that a litde princess 

In the great city of Paris, on the morning was born, but that the great empire yet wanted 

of March 20, 1811, was heard the report of an heir to its glories, 

a cannon. As in the castle of the Sleeping " Twenty-two ! " 

Princess all were petrified by the touch of her The counting ceased. Who at that sujireme 

finger to the fated spindle, so in the metrojjolis moment cared to reckon the hundred and one 

of Europe the merchant dropped his yard- guns that announced the birth of the infant 

slick, the citizen held his coffee untasted, the who was heir to three-quarters of the civilized 

seamstress stopped in the middle of a .stitch, world ? Even the artillerymen may well have 

the senrinels paused at the sound of that been pardoned for a miscount; surely none 

cannon. knew or cared. From the jarring peal of the 

All, as if enchanted, counted, " One ! " great bells of Notre Dame to the shrill cheers 

.Another and another gun followed, until the of the street boys, every manifestation of joy, 

counting reached twenty-one. Then all lis- every proof of good wishes, followed the glo- 

Copyright, 1892, by Thh Centurv Co. All rights reserved. 



rious news. Xiit only ihc capital, hut all 
France awoke to felicMtations : semaphore sig- 
nals hurried the tidings to remotest provinces, 
and special couriers sprang to their saddles to 
ride at breakneck speed to foreign courts. 

Throughout the land, fortresses echoed the 
guns of Paris. The shipping blossomed with 
bunting in every harbor. And when night 
came, every quarter of the capital glowed with 
spontaneous illuminations that seemed the best 
proof of how dear was the little prince to high 
and low. 

Whoever can read must have followed the 
grand career of Napoleon I., the greatest soldier 
of modern times; but of his son, Napoleon II., 
little has been written where boys and girls can 
read it. Perhaps it is well to see what the 
ambition of the father brought upon the son. 

The great Napoleon seemed at last to have 
conquered the hearts of his people. He said 
afterward, " On that day I learned how much 
the Parisians loved me ! " 

Beginning a few years eariier by dispersing 
the city mob before his cannon, he had made 
his way steadily upward until, self-crowned, he 
could demand the hand of an Austrian princess, 
in order to ally himself with the proudest royal 
family of Europe. 

When the divorced Empress, Josephine, was 
a young maiden in Martinique, it is said that 
an old gipsy woman one day predicted that 
the young creole should be " greater than a 
Queen of France." If another soothsayer had 
foretold that Marie Louise, daughter of the 
Emperor of Austria, would marry Napoleon 
Bonaparte, it would at one time have seemed 
quite as incredible. For when this same Marie 
Louise was a litde girl playing with toy sol- 
diers, she always selected the ugliest to play 
the part of " Bonaparte," the hated enemy of 
her country. Whatever queer fancies she and 
her brothers may have carried out with their 
toys, we are sure that this detested wooden 
Bonaparte was never made to play the role of 
bridegroom to the little archduchess. 

And yet the fantasy of facts had brought it 
about that she was the wife of the great Em- 
peror of the French, and mother of the boy 
whose birth set Paris and France and all the 
world in t\Hniilt. Nor was the change in her 

views and her fortune a grailual one. The 
marriage was in 1810, and only five years ])re- 
viously she had written from Hungary, whither 
the Austrian Imperial family had fled before 
Napoleon's invasion : " Perhaps God has let 
him go so far to make his ruin more complete 
when he has abandoned him ! " Even one year 
before the marriage, upon the reported loss of 
a battle by Bonaparte, she wrote, " May he lose 
his head as well ! " 

But Napoleon had weighed the advantages 
of a match with a sister of the Czar of Russia, 
and had decided that he preferred an alliance 
with the Archduchess of Austria ; and, for the 
sake of the peace of Europe, the girl of nine- 
teen had yielded to the wishes of her father 
and his advisers, and consented to become 
Empress of France. 

The wedding was one long pageant from 
Vienna to Paris. So eager were the French 
courtiers to see the young bride that, as she sat 
enthroned before being presented to her new- 
subjects, one of them made a tiny gimlet-hole 
in the partition, and all took turns in securing 
a private view. 

Napoleon said at St. Helena, " Marie Louise 
had a short reign, but she must have enjoyed 
it ; the world was at her feet." And the proud- 
est moment of her brief sovereignty was when 
the little son was born. 

Surely no infant ever had so bright a golden 
spoon in its mouth. What a beginning for a 
fairy-story ! — " There was born in a most pou- 
erful empire a young prince. His father was 
an emperor and a king, his mother an emjiress, 
the daughter of an emperor, and was likewise a 
queen and an archduchess. His grandfather 
was an emperor, his uncles and aunts were 
kings and queens, and he himself was a prince 
imperial and a king even before he could 

What fortune will the seers predict for the 
child? His father was sure that Prince Impe- 
rial was too petty a title for this heir of Europe 
and the glory of its conqueror. No modern 
title was grand enough, and they went back 
to the days of the world-rulers, — the Roman 
Caesars. The heir to their throne had been 
known as " King of Rome," and in default of 
greater title, the little Napoleon was so called. 


The birtli of this liny monarch has lieen de- 
scribed as " the last smile of Fortune upon him 
who had seemed her favorite child.'' But 
though the course of Napoleon's career had 
reached its highest point and was thenceforth 
liownward, the descent was at first gradual and 
hardly apparent. The father and mother were 
overjoyed and full of pride in the beautiful boy. 
Though so great a personage, the Empress 
wrote to the grandfather just as a humbler 
mother would have done — " I think you 
will see how much he looks like the Em- 
peror," — meaning, of course, her Em- ' 
peror and the baby's Emperor. The 
child's surroundings were the most ex- 
quisite the world could furnish. He 
was baptized in the chapel of the Tuile- 
ries, from a gold font, and surrounded by 
sovereigns and courtiers who blazed in 
colors and jewels. Imagine the presents 
heaped upon this little fellow, to whom 
anything less than a duke was a poor 
relation ! His cradle was of costly ma- 
terials, and designed by a distinguished 
artist. It bore at the head a winged 
figure of Victory, while at the foot 
the imperial eagle was perched ready to 
fly, — quite too ready to fly, as it proved. 

His baby-carriage was drawn by lambs 
as white as Mary's own ; while, for fear 
they should skip and play and spill his "^ 
precious majesty upon the soil of his 
future empire, a gorgeous official kept 
a firm hand on the reins, and the grand- 
est of nursemaids walked ever by this 
royal chariot. But if the baby crowed 
and smiled, no doubt it was at the birds 
and flowers and sunshine, which were no more 
his kingdom than they are the domain of every 
child that breathes. 

When he tired of his coach, the bravest Vet- 
erans of the Guard sought the privilege of 
dandHng the son of the beloved Little Gray 
Corporal who had become an Emperor. No 
cross or medal was too precious to be the play- 
thing of the boy who was to inherit all that 
had been won on so many terrible battle-fields. 

But grandeur has its penalties. Once, when 
Napoleon playfully pinched the little cheek, 
the baby cried. 


"Come, come, sir!" exclaimed the Km])e- 
ror; "do you suppose you are never to be 
thwarted ? — and do kings cry ? " 

Assuredly they do. There is no royal road 
to teething. 

Talleyrand, one day upon entering the private 
study where father and son were together, found 
the boy upon his father's knee, while Napoleon 
was gently slapping him. 

"Do you know wluil I am doing?" asked 

" No, sire," said the diplomatist, who was far 
too wise to guess royal jjuzzlcs. 

" I am slapping a king ! " was the answer. 
And this trifling and harmless pleasantry has 
been cited by a serious writer as a jtroof of 
Napoleon's " cruelty " to his child ! 

" Is he not a fine boy? — you must confess 
that he is," said the Emperor to one of the 
court ladies ; and the father showed in many 
ways warm affection toward the little fellow. 
It was the custom to let the boy come to the 




table at tlic late breakfast, where he was treated 
to a very small portion of claret in a great 
(leal of water. Both his parents seem to have 
teased the baby at times ; it may be that the 
contrast between the proud title, " King of 
Rome." and the tiny toddler who staggered 
under it, tempted the father and mother into 

fooHsh tricks to make him show what a mere 
infant he was after all. Only as he grew 
older did he begin to understand that he was 
a personage of some consequence. 

" Open the door. I wish to see papa ! " he 
said one day to the usher on duty before the 
Emperor's study. 

" Sire, I cannot let your Majesty in," was 
the firm reply. 

"Why not ? — I am the little Kingl" he in- 

" But your Majesty is alone," said the usher; 
for the Emperor had ordered that the door 
should not be opened unless the governess ac- 
companied the boy. This was done that he 
might respect her authority. 

With tears in his eyes, the little monarch 
ran away, only to return in triumph with his 

" Open the door," said he confidently ; " the 
litde King desires it." 

The obsequious usher stood aside, announ- 
cing, '"His Majesty the King of Rome!" 

Very grand ; but there are advantages in 
being able to run to one's father without cere- 

.\s he learned his importance, the royal 
]jupil sometimes proved refractory. Once, 
when he openly rebelled, the governess went 
to the windows and closed the shutters. His 
curiosity overcame his rage, and he asked why 
the shutters were closed. 

" In order," she answered, " that no one 
may hear you. Tiie French would never 
have you for king if they knew you to be so 

This terrible threat brought him to terms. 

" Have I cried very loud ? " 

" You have." 

" But did they hear me ? " 

'• I fear they did." 

Then he surrendered, and begged forgiveness. 

Certainly this was not quite straightforward 
in the governess ; but it is difficult to discipline 
the pet of an empire, and if she made mis- 
takes, she certainly atoned for them by her 
devotion to the boy when he had few other 
true friends. 

Many were the lessons in eticiuette to which 
he had to submit. We are told that he once 
ran heedlessly into the council-room, ignoring 
the grave dignitaries who were in consultation 
with the Emperor. 

" You have not made your bow, Sire," re- 
marked his father, reprovingly. " Come, make 
your obedience to these gentlemen." So the 
boy bowed and kissed his hand, and the gray 
heads returned the greeting, while the Em- 
peror went on, " I hope, gentlemen, that it 
won't be said I neglect my child's education. 
He begins to understand inf;intine civility." 

In these stories we see that the Prince was 
a good little fellow who tried to keep the many 
rules they prescribed for him. Other anec- 
dotes show that he was kind-hearted as well 
as docile. An old Greek statesman said that 
the babies ruled Athens ; for the babies ruled 
the mothers and the mothers ruled the fathers. 
Shrewd courtiers tried to make use of the in- 
fluence of the King of Rome over the Emperor. 

A man who .sought a place in the French 
government jiresented to the Emperor a peti- 
tion addressed " To His Majesty, tlie King of 



Rome," begging for an appoinlincnl. 'I'hc 
Emperor said, " Carry it to the person to 
whom it is addressed." So the petitioner was 
conducted to the cradle of the six-months-old 
potentate, and there he solemnly read aloud 
the document to the blinking infant, respect- 
fully saluted, and returned to the Emperor. 

"What answer did he make?" asked Na- 

" Sire, he made no answer," was the reply. 

" Who says nothing, con.sents," observed the 
Emperor, dryly, and granted the petition. 


read that, upon the return of tlie iMiiperor from 
a grand review in the Champ de Mars, at which 
the King of Rome was present, his mother 
asked, " Was he frightened?" and the Emperor 
replied, " Frightened ? No, surely. He knew 
he was surrounded by his father's friends!" 

When the King of Rome was but one year 
old, the artist Gerard painted his portrait as 
he sat in liis magnificent cradle. The picture 
showed him with the symbols of royalty, and 
was no doubt quite as im])osing as the truth 
would permit. As soon as finished the portrait 

In this case the young King played a passive 
part ; but when he was older, by the artful 
arrangement of some person about the court, a 
soldier's widow passed with her son before the 
windows of the palace at St. Cloud so as to 
attract the notice of the young Prince. 

"Why is she dressed in black?" he asked; 
and they told him the sad story of the father's 
death. He eagerly agreed to present a petition 
for a pension. 

We cannot regret that this pension was 
granted, but must that the application had 
been made in another way. It is [ileasanter to 

was packed in a great box, fastened on top of a 
traveling-carriage, and hurried aw^ay into Russia, 
where Napoleon was then encamped. 

It arrived on the night before a battle ; and 
the Emperor caused it to be exhibited near 
his tent, where it could be seen by the .soldiers. 
The Imperial Guard of Veterans were the first 
to crowtl about it, we may be sure ; but we may 
now accept with some reserve the statement 
that they wept tears of joy over it. 

" Gentlemen," said Napoleon to his officers, 
" if my son were fifteen years old, you may be 
sure that he would be here anions tliis multi- 



tudc of brave men, and not merely iii a 

Happily, the little King was too young to go 
with his father upon that terrible invasion of 
Russia, which was to be the ruin of the empire. 
Beginning so gloriously, it ended in imtold hor- 

rors of flight and frost. Then Napoleon aban- 
doned the ragged remnant of his army and (led 
secretly in a swift sledge. Muffled in a heavv 
cloak, he came almost alone to the palace at 
midnight, and had diflficulty in gaining admis- 
sion. He roused the Empress and kissed the 
sleepy baby, who only mumbles drowsily as 
he is carried ba<k to bed. 

There were yet a few happy monlhs for the 

boy ; for while Napoleon was working des- 
perately in his study to raise another army from 
exhausted France, he found relief from his ter- 
rible anxiety by playing with his son. The two 
would sit upon the floor, marshaling blocks of 
wood that represented bodies of soldiers. 

But, outside the play-room, the allied mon- 
archs of Europe were as busily marshaling real 
soldiers, and bearing back the eagles of France 
on every side. Nearer and nearer they came,